


Psycho Pass: Redemption

by MelinaRavese



Series: Psycho Pass [1]
Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Anime, Crimes & Criminals, Cyberpunk, Dystopia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Manga & Anime, Mistery, Philosophy, Prequel, Science Fiction, Sybil System (Psycho-Pass)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:26:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 83,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23873905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelinaRavese/pseuds/MelinaRavese
Summary: In a society where a person's psychological and mental state is quantified by the Psycho Pass —a numerical value that defines soul— people can be judged before committing crimes by the Ministry of Welfare's massive surveillance network: the Sibyl System. The story goes back three years before the events of Psycho Pass and follows Yashiro Takahashi, a student at the Ousou Academy who is involved in the investigation of the Specimen Case.
Series: Psycho Pass [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043496
Comments: 34
Kudos: 14





	1. Psycho Pass: Redemption

__

_No one can go crazy anymore._

_You are also in this_ _plastic_ _beautiful world._

_In this_ _beautiful_ _world,_

_for some reason I cannot see the light._


	2. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I created a playlist on Spotify for Psycho Pass: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1av089H7dv2BoS5pvT7IbP?si=a8vK8HdnSLqW5MBJksoweg

In the darkness of the night, the floors of the building rested in a lonely and decadent dream, barely illuminated by the moonlight and the few light poles outside. The footsteps echoed in the corridors as the enforcer walked cautiously forward. He wielded the dominator tightly as he tilted his head to the side, sharpening each of his senses.

“I heard some rumors I’d like you to clear up, Makishima. Is it true you lured the police? Why did you help us if you’re sending us those death dogs now?” inquired a man with a husky voice. The sound of a knife being thrust against wood broke the silence. “Whatever. We’ll manage as always.”

The man’s stout silhouette fell into his range of vision, and he slowly directed his arms toward it. The familiar feminine, mechanized voice made its way into his ears like a cold whisper of death, while the lower portion of the weapon underwent an elaborate transformation, by means of rotating and sliding parts.

_Crime Coefficient is 324. Enforcement mode is Lethal Eliminator. Aim carefully and eliminate the target._

The enforcer narrowed his eyes and breathed out gently, waiting a few seconds before pulling the trigger. The shot rumbled throughout the room and when the energy came into contact with the man's back, it affected all organic matter instantly. It only took a few seconds for the mass to swell, spreading throughout his body until it exploded definitively, reducing what had been a human being until then, to nothing more than simple fragments bathed in an intense crimson.

When he advanced into the conflict zone, he was overwhelmed by the darkness in the room. The cold night air pierced his bones, and he stood beside the human remains, looking in different directions like a child lost in his own nightmare. The reflection of a sort of knife separating from its handle made him squint, but he did not manage to direct his dominator at the figure, so the trigger remained blocked. He had no time to react, as a few fleeting steps froze his blood and a direct, sharp blow forced him to drop his weapon, which was fired backwards. He could hear the whistle of the knife brandishing itself in the air, each time he tried to cut through his skin with fluid and lethal attacks, some of which he barely managed to avoid.

Lack of practice was his undoing, and when he made the mistake of going ahead too early, he let out a pitiful grunt as he felt a sharp burn on his forearm. Blood began to flow like a scarlet river, and despite the darkness he knew that the slash was serious. He staggered for a few moments like a creature and took a few steps backwards, absorbed in the magical rhythm that the dance had acquired. His opponent waited patiently for him to stand up again, as if he were giving him time to recover, as if he were a simple, battered toy that he wanted to observe, before deforming him completely.

If there was any control left in the fluctuating sea of his mind, the enforcer did not seem to show it in his actions, as he pounced like an angry beast, giving all sorts of kicks and punches with the main objective of snatching the knife from him. He swore to glimpse the shadow of a smile on the man's face, as if he enjoyed his endless hopes, and that distraction caused a sharp blow to his nose, which puzzled him for a few moments, and the pain was such that he knew it had broken on impact. Slowly, his head began to spin. He saw shadows where there were none, the flash of the knife coming from the most inhospitable places, like lonely, incandescent lightning.

The next kick he performed cost him dearly, since the man, of all the possible movements he could make, chose to bend down and grab him with expert hands, both of the leg and of the neck. In a movement that seemed a blur to the enforcer, he ended up on the ground, with a throbbing pain in the back of his neck and a strong dizziness. Although his eyesight became increasingly blurred, he could make out the sickly way in which the man's lips parted in a feline smile, thirsting to spill the red of his blood on the blade, while he enjoyed contemplating his inability to breathe. Before everything melted into black, he heard a female voice call out his name.

“Dai!”

The surprise was fleeting, but no less lethal. The intruder stopped a few feet away, looking at the figure hunched over the motionless body of the enforcer, with a razor in his right hand, about to plunge it into his skull. She clicked her tongue as she felt her dominator, realizing that if she shot him, she could seriously injure the enforcer because he was only a few inches away from his body. It was then that she decided to throw herself towards the man, who had no face due to the darkness of the room. As soon as he heard her footsteps, he jumped up to face her, raising the knife in front of him in a defensive position.

And in the blink of an eye, she joined in the dance which, little by little, began to synchronize with her. While the man knew how to react at every step she took, she recognized his feints and, for that reason, managed to avoid most of his movements, which changed shape and place at every moment, but were focused, in particular, on the most vulnerable areas of the human body. She was not as agile as that man, but she knew how to act, and when he attacked with his razor in the direction of her face, she grabbed him by the forearm and gave him a sharp blow on the throat, followed by another behind the knee with the sole of her shoe. The man let out a dry, uncontrollable cough and fell to his knees.

At that moment, the young woman had enough time to take advantage of his vulnerability, coming to snatch the knife, which made it turn in the opposite direction. The edge of the blade was just inches from the skin on his neck, but she managed to hold herself back and stood behind him, panting, not completely carried away by the ecstasy of struggle. Under the darkness of that room, as the coughing stopped and silence hung over both of them, she heard a guttural sound from the man, who bowed his head a few inches in a complacent, proud gesture, even though death loomed behind him.

"It’d be my pleasure to die by your hand, Yashiro," he whispered in a tempting, defiant tone. “And yet, you’d be the last person I would allow to replace me.”

The girl frowned slowly, recognizing the majestic and gentle voice, even though she had not heard it in a long time. She could not stop holding the blade, and a shudder of surprise ran down her spine. The fear she had felt until then burned out like a candle on a windy night and she sensed her whole body beginning to relax, the grip on the handle losing the tension that had kept her so expectant.

“Makishima Shougo.”

At the utterance of that name, the boy made an exact turn at an unintelligible speed, leaning forward as she lunged with the razor and sliding in such a way as to break down her defenses, grabbing her by the blue police jacket and leaving her at his mercy. Yashiro closed her eyes for what seemed like endless seconds, sensing the cold cement on the back of her head, which was beating at a frantic pace, almost more than her heart. When she opened them again, she found the mesmerizing amber eyes that kept staring at her. The blade had returned to his hands and was located on Yashiro's skin, right on her neck.

However, the little force he applied eventually gave away completely and an enigmatic smile danced on his lips, softening his whole appearance, until he finally decided to get up. A few seconds were enough for him to wipe the blade with a cloth, removing the trace of blood. Then he tucked it away in his back trouser pocket with excessive delicacy, as if to protect it from even the tiniest dust. Yashiro remained with her back to the ground unable to come to her senses, but when she looked up, she could make out his hand in the darkness, and as she took it from his forearm, he responded by exerting a counter force to help her stand up.

"You’ve improved a lot since last time," he remarked, his grip lingering, as he studied her features. “But you got to work on the rear.”


	3. 2

It was a sunny morning with little wind, and through the large and extensive windows of the classroom one could contemplate the outside, losing oneself in nature which was gradually being absorbed by the artificial. While most students were looking forward to concentrating on the teacher’s words, others were distracted by their devices chatting with classmates or simply watching news raging on the net. One of them was sleeping on her desk with her face sunken in her arms, giving no signs of life until she suddenly began to move. At first slowly, as if she were being disturbed in her sleep, until then her entire body shook from head to toe, waking her up instantly.

The shock was severe enough to cause some things to fall off her desk, and for a few long seconds the whole class was silent. The young woman was staring at a fixed point without adapting to reality, as if she were still unable to perceive it. Glances fell on her with concern and the social science teacher stopped writing on the blackboard some dates, to approach her overflowing with curiosity, while she gathered her things, stunned by the nightmare, without distinguishing reality from the dream.

“Everything in order?” he asked a few steps away from her, hands in his trouser pockets. 

The elder’s brown eyes matched the mole on his left cheekbone. Many students enjoyed gazing at that detail, and were completely captivated when he turned his attention to them. Yet, there was someone who did not get tangled in his charm, holding his gaze with the silver in her eyes, aware that he was trying to intimidate her as a teacher to a disrespectful student, albeit in a soft and funny way.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your class, Professor Toma.”

The man watched her as she collected her belongings. He could sense that something was wrong, since he had never seen her fall asleep in the middle of a class. She was the only one who carried a book to read along with her tablet, and when the teacher stood beside her desk, he looked quickly at the cover of the object, until a faint smile lit up his face for a fraction of a second. He observed her a few moments and turned to resume his class, letting an enigmatic smile shine through. He was followed by the eyes of the students, who were completely silent as if a death had been announced.

“Well, if Miss Takahashi falls asleep it’s because I’m boring you to death, isn’t it?”

The class chuckled, even Yashiro wore a contorted smile at the teacher’s dazzling sincerity. His very particular way of teaching, bringing out at least one smile at the shyest, made him one of the most loved among his students. Despite this, Yashiro did not manage to concentrate on his fascinating explanations thereafter. Her mind kept repeating the past images like an infinite loop she was part of, and from which she could not escape.

During the rest of the class she was unable to notice that her right hand was shaking slightly, although the teacher could see it despite the distance, who had been studying her furtively all the time. When the class was over, several students crowded around Yashiro such a gang gathering to plan a robbery, asking how she was doing, whether she had slept well or, conversely, someone had come to disturb her.

Her features changed completely in the face of such attention, and she kept smiling as she told her classmates that she had only fallen asleep, and that there was no need to worry. Kozaburo Toma overheard from his place with a nostalgic smile, while he put in his backpack a pyraminx he had started to solve that morning. When the students began to go out, he waited for them all to leave until he was finally alone with the young Takahashi. He proceeded to lean on his desk with his arms crossed in an informal manner and watched her closely, looking for any clues that might explain her condition.

“Something wrong, Yashiro?”

The young woman turned when she heard that tone, which signified concern. The man’s face was so angelic, that he must have been older than her by only a couple of years. Yashiro had to raise her head a few inches when she looked at him, for she was among the tallest in her class. Her eyes narrowed for a brief moment and were lost in another direction, but when she returned to the man’s they reflected an absolute disinterest, which he recognized as pretending.

“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”

Toma shook his head softly, and even smiled tolerantly as he followed her with his eyes and thought about it, without coming to any conclusions. He was aware that she had lied, but he would not insist on further questions. Some people did not feel the need to open up to everyone, and he had no objection. As they left the classroom for the outer courtyard, they walked slowly and quietly for a long time, until the sun’s rays caressed their skin and the distant murmurs of the students reached their ears.

“Don’t you find it aberrant, Yashiro? Even though opportunities are immense and information may be accessible to everyone, people prefer to be shaped by customs and vices. This academy makes me feel like a damn drone, giving explanations without getting questions or comments. How beautiful it would be to hold how ungrateful they are against them… you know that it was twice as boring in the past?”

Yashiro raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side, as she watched students talking to one another several feet away. Hatred ran through him like an electric current, the same one that she had long been able to perceive and which, being the last year for her and her classmates, he completely let escape between words.

“You mean the time when students had to kill themselves handwriting throughout the class?”

Toma anticipated the young woman’s words as if they were his own, and extended his arms forward with an unreachable gaze, pointing to an imaginary audience.

“They were turned into subjects and not individuals. Today, even though most teachers have changed, students still accept everything they’re told, losing themselves in the masses. It’d be so easy to manipulate them with false information, that I melt just thinking about it…”

Yashiro turned to him connecting with the gaze that, at the time, exerted a magical and frenetic impulse, like a forest that was beginning to burn, and at the same time, seemed to contain the flames so as not to consume itself. 

“Of all institutes existing… why did you choose the Ousou Academy? I know you got a hue as pure as water, so surely you’ve been offered a range of options…”

Toma roared with a long, deep laugher, leaning slightly forward as if to exaggerate the fact that he had been discovered. Some girls cast curious glances at them which gradually changed, until they became more and more astonished. Professor Toma always managed to catch the attention of those around him, especially if they were women, and he took advantage of that if it benefited him in any way.

“Hope you get more sleep for next class!” exclaimed Toma in a mocking voice.

Yashiro shook her head when he greeted her with the hand that did not hold his satchel, and she responded to that gesture with a disappointed grimace, as she watched him leave. She caught a glimpse of an almost imperceptible smile on his thin face, and then she understood that the truth was hidden in his words, since he had truly missed her participation in class. Her classmates were always in funeral silence with their eyes fixed on him, accepting each and every one of his words since none of them or very few of them, were interested in investigating what was said later or perhaps at the time.

The dining room at the Ousou Academy was large and majestic, usually quiet as there were rarely arguments or fights. Many students preferred to make a fuss in the toilets or all those places out of sight, so as not to be discovered by the elders. Some even bothered others to keep their hues in good condition, although in such a conservative academy the psycho pass remained stable.

Yashiro used to be grateful for the constant calm, but this time she was prey to the memories that plagued her mind and could barely enjoy her lunch. Staring blankly at the table in her glaring thoughts, she did not notice the student who had entered the dining room, followed by the bold glances of the others. When the shadow of that figure was cast beside her, it finally caught her attention and she blinked in absorption.

“It’s unusual see you worried,” affirmed a perfectly polished and uniform female voice, which seemed to dance in a soft whisper, and at the same time disturb the atmosphere, like a hypnotic melody.

Yashiro curled her lips for a fraction of a second, completely ignoring the casual murmurs and laughter coming from the other adjacent tables. She looked up to focus her entire attention on the tall, thin girl, who was watched by many of her admirers particularly because of her long black hair, which was always loose and reached down to her waist, thus imposing a magical yet simple elegance.

Yashiro bowed her head slightly to those amethyst eyes, which were staring at her with an almost palpable coldness, something that many students did not notice. She glanced at her for a few seconds, felt her fork twice and continued her lunch, which was beginning to get cold from the long wait. In response, the girl proceeded to sit in front of her in a refined, upright position. They usually asked permission to sit, but Yashiro had become so accustomed to her presence that manners had long since ceased to exist between the two of them.

The young Oryo was always accompanied by one or two students as if they were bodyguards, but every time she addressed her, she did so on her own. Yashiro wondered what she had to hide, why she needed to protect her reputation so much the way she did. Would she be wary of her psycho pass? They were silent for a long time, one eating placidly and the other analyzing her every move, with that empty, enigmatic expression that so characterized her and to which Yashiro had become used.

“You’re tormented by something you can’t let go of, and that’s why you had a bad morning, right?”

Yashiro wiped her mouth with a cloth, leaving her hands slowly on either side of her tray to look back at her. In that instant, Rikako pursed her lips with pride knowing that she had hit the mark, and leaned forward with her hands together, her chin resting on them. The reflection in her eyes denoted the purest complacency and were fully fixed on the person in front of her, as if memorizing every expression or detail exposed. There was a deep, supernatural calm in her presence, but the darkness that came to be seen in her eyes was deafening. It was like a rage meticulously constructed so that all around, no one could perceive it.

“As perceptive as ever,” Yashiro praised, pausing briefly, “how are you doing with your drawings?”

Rikako was stunned by the silvery coolness of her eyes, prolonging the silence longer than necessary to make evident her desire to know what had happened to her in class, whatever was going on in her mind at the time. Yashiro was a puzzle to her, however, and she knew that she only showed her inner self when she was ready to do so, she did not like being pushed too far.

“I see,” Yashiro reflected aloud, “I could help you find the inspiration you lack.”

After a long minute, at the end of her last bite of lunch, she stood up with slow, polite movements, leaning forward slightly. Earlier in the morning many of her classmates had become concerned at seeing her tense for no apparent reason in the middle of class, and rumors spread as fast as a bullet, reaching Rikako herself.

“As a thanks, I’ll make an exception by allowing you to see my latest work. It’s not finished yet, so your opinion will be very helpful,” approved the young Oryo, imitating her movement and standing in front of the table.

They stood facing one another for a few moments, oblivious to the surrounding environment, until Yashiro tilted her head with some irony or perhaps derision, arching her eyebrow for a fraction of a second, unaware or completely ignoring the looks that rested on them with both curiosity and admiration.

“Rikako Oryo is giving me access to one of her incomplete works? This is an offer I can’t refuse.”

Although she did not show it, Yashiro was truly surprised, and in turn flattered. As they walked past with their eyes straight ahead, some students murmured in unison or simply smiled, blushing in the process, something they were already used to, the only difference being that while it made Rikako proud of, Yashiro did not care at all.

At that moment, she only wondered what work her classmate was talking about, what it looked like, what it meant; such was her self-absorption that when another student greeted her and asked if she was all right, she automatically responded with a simple nod and a broad smile on her lips, gestures and words that came out from inside her with great simplicity.

At that time, the academy corridors connecting the various classrooms were isolated and silent, and were only stunned by the gentle footsteps of the two students. Yashiro followed her as she watched her walk carefully, and she could almost hear the slow sound of her breathing from her position. When they arrived at one of the art rooms, Rikako placed her hands on the doorknob and opened it, gesturing gracefully with her head to signal her partner to move forward.

The room was empty with a single drawing in the corner, placed with its back to every possible viewer. Rikako was very cautious, she did not like to have her drawings looked at unfinished. She preferred to refine them until she finally decided that she could make them public in class. The deafening silence of the room was dazzling and Yashiro let herself be carried away by that wonderful peace, walking slowly and softly. The only thing missing from that room was the sweet whispering of a piano, but she merely gave it sound in her mind.

“What you think? Don’t you feel it lacks more… realism?”

The hesitant voice of the young Oryo brought her back to reality and opened her eyes again, taking the melody out of her mind. She turned to the girl, who sat in front of her creation with her hands on her knees. Yashiro approached to study the piece very carefully, standing behind her. The image was such a pleasant surprise that she could not contain her growing interest and moved closer, staying only inches away from her face and leaning slightly forward.

A woman was looking up, as if she were staring at something beyond her reach, naked and with her hands together in what seemed to be a silent cry. Behind her was a large tree to which she was attached, as if she were part of it or subject to its presence. Some leafy branches covered her, but she seemed to be alone, out in the open, though she had pleasant company. Yashiro came to smile warmly, and exchanged a long look with her partner.

“I wonder what inspired you… Solitude? Blindness? The Sibyl System, perhaps?”

Yashiro’s eyes shone brightly, and she seemed to enjoy her every word. Rikako merely smiled in mystery and Yashiro knew that the last option was more feasible. She began walking through the room with her hands behind her back, followed by her partner. Unlike Rikako, her hair was brown and fell back below her shoulders, though she usually wore it on her chest.

Her gait was elegant and cautious, as if she were constantly analyzing others, looking for the slightest possibility of finding danger in front of her eyes. She never turned her back on anyone— even though there was no one in the academy who would wish or think to harm her. She watched her feet as she walked, as if to avoid falling, but Rikako knew that beneath that unwavering blanket of deep calm and understanding, she found herself in awe, perhaps even distracted. It was something that was allowed in her presence.

“Now… will you tell me what’s going on, without changing the subject?”

The young Oryo opened her eyes delicately, fixing them on her partner. Ever since she had seen her in the dining room, the same doubt had been eating away at her inside, rigorously and deeply. Yashiro stopped the impetuous march with a long, deep sigh, pausing silently as if she knew that the question would reach her ears at any moment. She tilted her head gently in the direction of Rikako, who still sat with her straight hair behind her, unmoving like a corpse, and kept looking into her eyes with a curiosity that seemed to tear her apart.

“I dreamt of ghosts from the past I thought I had buried,” Yashiro nodded with an almost mystical softness.

Rikako gazed at her for a few eternal seconds, noticing those silvery eyes that sparkled like two tiny pearls, and having to resist the imperturbable force that gaze exerted on her, like a magnet that attracted her and drove her away. She was a few feet away, and yet she seemed to be immeasurably far from reality, as if she could float of her own free will.

“We all have ghosts. You just have to learn to overcome them.”

The strange, somber words of the young Oryo echoed in Yashiro’s mind, and they circled unevenly over and over again, until finally she illuminated the meaning that had been embedded in them. Yashiro narrowed her eyes, never ceasing to observe her, reasoning out what she had said, until she asked the question that was growing inside her:

“How?”

Rikako found it hard to believe that Yashiro, being older than her, was asking her for advice. The fact that it was something she did not usually do with others, except for some teachers, filled her with pride, and after a deep breath, she rose to address her partner, staying a foot away to respect the physical and intimate barrier she so strongly held. Her thin lips moved with voluptuousness, and despite the distance Yashiro was able to glimpse the wetness that glowed over them in a sinister way.

“Accepting them, living with them, until they can offer you nothing but simple memories…”

Her voice echoed throughout the room like sweet whispers of cold winter. Yashiro softened her expression and smiled subtly, bowing her face in a respectful and kind manner in the form of gratitude. Then she walked back to the window, to watch the blue sky and the students crowding into the courtyard.

What caught her attention and made her eyes wander was a little girl standing unnoticed by others, her clothes and hands bathed in bright red. She was gazing up at the sky in confusion, just like the woman in Rikako’s drawing. Yashiro closed her eyes tightly, however, and when she opened them again, she discovered that the jagged image was gone.


	4. 3

“We live in a city where people are capable of mastering all the arts, but they are not masters of themselves, they are lost in their own abundance; they lack projects and are adrift, that is why they do not build anything, even though their possibilities, their powers, are enormous. To live is to feel forced to exercise freedom, to decide what we are going to be in this world… however, when a life ceases the struggle to be itself, when society stops listening to its own voice and begins to be able to live only in service to the State… can we still talk about human beings?”

Kozaburo Toma observed his colleague, who was sitting in an armchair near him. He crossed one leg over the other in both an elegant and simple manner, while gently stroking the page of an Ortega y Gasset book with his index finger. He dressed formally as he usually did when teaching art classes at the Ousou Academy, hiding his youth under that yellow vest with black buttons, and the purple tie that worn over his impeccable white shirt. He was a highly respected teacher, not only by the students but also by other teachers.

Toma let out a smile, staring at the amber eyes which seemed to glow with inaccessible thoughts. When Makishima Shougo suddenly closed his book, he swept around with his gaze. The library at the Ousou Academy was empty as usual at almost any time of the day. He found it regrettable that, in those days, there were very few or even no people who dared to enter that sanctuary, to at least enjoy its almost maternal warmth and the thoughtful silence it offered.

Fewer and fewer people were interested in reading, and some even limited themselves to do so through the use of technology, with digital media, but it was not the same as holding a book in your own hands, feeling the softness of the pages under your fingers and the smell that they emanated, or turning the page with a dismay that whipped the mind for one thousandth of a second. On a screen everything happened too fast, the brain processed less information. He looked at professor Toma again, prolonging the silence for a few moments.

“How’s the inspiration going, Toma?”

Makishima touched the front of the book gently, as his amber eyes rose cunningly to his colleague’s browns. He lifted his head a few inches, revealing his white hair behind. Toma watched him engrossed until he smiled wryly again, which further exposed the mole under his left eye, the one that always ended up attracting the attention of most people he came across, especially students. He rubbed his hands maliciously and sat down in the chair opposite his colleague with some vigor, his legs slightly apart.

“Very well. It’s a pity my knowledge in chemistry is mediocre.”

Makishima’s eyes glittered for a fleeting second, and curiosity flooded every inch of his face. A sly smile transformed his expression, but it disappeared so quickly that Toma could barely notice it.

“I know a student who’s an expert in that field.”

Although Makishima sounded firm and confident in his words, Toma squinted at him as he settled into the chair, restless as a teenager surprised by his parents. He wondered which student he was really talking about, and if it had any use for him. He considered it deeply, because whenever his colleague recommended something, it ended up being important. He was not one of the people who wasted time with words, and he concluded that he had someone interesting for him.

“She may be very good at chemistry, but that doesn’t guarantee she’s gonna be familiar with my pieces…”

Makishima watched him for a few seconds in an enigmatic tranquility, until he finally curled his lips into a thin smile. Toma arched one eyebrow, completely absorbed in his expression of victory and pride, which he was already familiar with but that in those moments reflected something else. He was sure of himself and managed to denote it not only in his behavior, but especially in his gaze.

“I’m sure she’ll love them.”

Toma connected with his eyes and remained absolutely silent for a few seconds, until he decided to trust his words fully, moved by the evident faith he had in this student. Makishima Shougo did not usually have such high expectations for someone, especially if it was a mere teenager, which is why his growing curiosity tore him apart inside. He wanted to meet that person, find out what made her special, that gave her so much value as an individual.

“Tell me then. Who’s this student you’re so proud of?”

“What would you like to do when you complete your studies and leave the academy?” asked the young Oryo, on her back and with her hands on both sides of her body.

The few clouds in the sky allowed both Yashiro and Rikako to enjoy the warm embrace that the sun offered. They were away from the other students, so that they could hear one another without interruption. Yashiro was sitting at the fountain in the courtyard contemplating every detail of the falling water, listening to the sound it produced, letting herself be carried away by its beautiful calm.

She reached out to the liquid and gently passed through it, half-closing her eyes. Rikako, on the other hand, frowned slightly when she looked at her. Sitting there on the stone, with one leg over the other and her arm outstretched, she looked like an old-fashioned painting. Yashiro caught the stupefaction in her face and smiled cocking her head, almost mockingly, but her partner, in those instances, could recognize the bitterness in her voice and face.

“I like to imagine it’s real water and not a hologram,” she explained, staring blankly at the object, and moving her hand away so that the image would not be interfered with. When she finally seemed to notice her partner’s presence, she answered the question by looking into her eyes. “That’s a question not everyone has the luxury of asking these days. Some don’t even care to do it anymore… for what, if the Sibyl System recommends professions according to talents?”

Rikako stared at her in a deep way, trying to reach her thoughts, which flowed freely and were so beyond her grasp. The silver eyes seemed dreamy, yet strangely sad, as if they were endlessly searching for the answer to something they had no access to. Her tone was nostalgic, so peaceful that she needed to sharpen her ears in order to hear it; she seemed to be talking to herself, but she was actually testing her attention like a faint piano playing in the distance, whose melody was eventually appreciated by those who listened to it carefully.

“I would like to continue my father’s work,” Rikako said.

The young woman’s words caught the attention of Yashiro, who studied her for a long time in silence. Her father, Roichi Oryo, had been a highly regarded artist. She had the pleasure of enjoying some of his works on the web and found them somewhat mesmerizing. Especially the one depicting a head with its hands around, as if it were immersed in sorrow or hatred, among the naked body of a woman and with flowers and plants on the sides of the painting. Rikako’s room, in fact, was a clear demonstration of his legacy.

It was admirable to her that in a world like the one they lived in, there were still people who chose their future professions without taking into account the recommendations that the Sibyl System offered. There was no longer a place for artists in that city, since art had no rational meaning whatsoever, and yet Rikako Oryo belonged to that tiny sample of people who chose to pursue what they were passionate about, even sometimes knowing that they were not good at it.

“How is he?” Yashiro asked cautiously.

Rikako looked up at the sky as if analyzing her next words, until she finally decided to sit down next to her. She had a sweet but barely noticeable scent imbued in her clothing that Rikako liked, bringing a smile to her face for a moment. Their hands were resting on the stone seat, and Rikako could not help but wonder how her skin would feel, what Yashiro’s reaction would be to sensing the touch of someone outside herself.

She actually wanted to check it out, but she managed to calm down her impulses whenever she was by her side and respected the limits imposed. She had always achieved everything she desired, she was even capable of forcing the feelings or intentions of others in such a way that only she benefited, but Yashiro was probably the only one she was willing to respect.

If she was surprised by the obvious interest regarding her father, she did not show it. Yashiro examined her features, finding it extremely complex to know what she was thinking about. Still, she could glimpse anger and resentment burning within her, those she tried so hard to hide, especially when she was in the presence of other students, or even teachers. She preferred to close her eyes and hold her breath, and Yashiro recognized the feeling she was going through.

The feeling of being locked up and not able to escape, of being in a cage and not able to open the wings to take flight. Her eyes widened slowly and Yashiro glanced sidelong at her partner, wondering what color her hue would have in those moments. She could feel a darkness looming within her, like a storm after days of full sun. What shocked her most, however, was the fact that instead of being curious, she was afraid.

And in an act that she did not even recognize as her own, she placed one of her hands on Rikako’s shoulder, very gently. There were not many students in the courtyard, and somehow, she could sense that she felt more comfortable under her touch, that her entire body relaxed. It took a few seconds for the youngest to gather the strength to speak.

“My father suffers from Stress Deficiency Syndrome. It’s a disease called “serenity” —a way of dying that people have wished for. He began to obsessively worry about his mental health, carrying out different treatments, and ended up becoming so dependent that it could even be considered an addiction…”

Yashiro imagined her father in a bed with his eyes half-open, but lost in nothingness itself. She could feel the hatred gnawing away at Rikako’s insides like a poison slowly spreading. She wondered whether she would be able to control it, or end up succumbing to it instead. She looked down for a few seconds, thinking of all the other people who would find themselves in the same situation as her father, or perhaps even worse. She drew a picture of herself in that conflict, and openly shared her partner’s feeling.

“I understand… whereas in the past stress was considered an energizer that motivates living, today excessive care leads to serious side effects. How ironic, isn’t it? I even risk saying that much of the unexplained deaths from heart failure are due to that…”

Rikako remained silent, gazing into another dimension. She was not an easy girl to surprise, so Yashiro’s idea that her father might die did not daze her at all. If she were another student, she would be more careful with her words, but it was not necessary in her presence. Perhaps deep down she was anticipating it, but she was still unable to assimilate it into reality.

She wondered what her reaction would be if she saw her father die, abandoning all those fantastic ideas that had made him a successful artist. She could not help but imagine her continuing her father’s artworks, perfecting them in her own style, for it was after such moments that human beings progressed most. The question was whether she would manage to cross the bridge without falling off during the journey.

“I admire everything he has done, but what I can’t forgive him is that he abandons his work,” Rikako declared with an almost palpable seriousness and determination, as if she were proclaiming war from within.

Yashiro analyzed that posture, eager to discover what Rikako was capable of. So young, but her willingness to change and improve herself was worthy of admiration. There were so many students in the academy, and yet few, like the young Oryo, dared to look beyond, to seek the answers to their questions without waiting for the answers of others; in a world where there was a universal father who offered absolutely everything, few dared to abandon his warm and imposing arms, to grow by their own free will as unique individuals and entities.

When a bird remains caged for so long with food and water in abundance, with the confidence that it will always be safe and in the company of an owner who does not stop caressing it, even if he opens the door for it to regain freedom, the bird will stay inside the cage, because it has already forgotten how to fly, how to be free.

Some others may dare to leave, but it will only be a matter of time before they return with the others, afraid of the new world. The latter may even let themselves be killed by predators when they realize that they are alone outside the cage, out in the open, as if they were no longer part of their species, and therefore of no other.

Rikako, on the other hand, was capable of spreading her wings and see the world with her own eyes, from the vast sky. Her father’s absence, however, was like a thorn in her side; while she wished to fly, he remained lying in the great cage. She was all alone and felt that her father had been killed in life by the system, until he was absorbed by the society that he so desired to enlighten with his ideas. Yashiro wanted to lift her up, to encourage her to take the leap of faith, until she could spread her wings and let the wind carry her away. And she longed to be present to watch her flight. She wondered who would fly higher.

“Then you shall take his place,” Yashiro approved in a soft voice.

They spent a long time in complete silence, exchanging glances. None of them seemed to realize how close they were to one other, but they did not care either, for it was not at all unpleasant for them. Yashiro softened her expression with an almost sweet smile and placed her hand back on the stone seat, still puzzled by that gesture which she could not suppress.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Rikako whispered, stretching backwards and holding her legs together delicately and elegantly.

Yashiro squinted with a certain sneer, as if she were fully enjoying her controlled impatience. She was in the habit of changing the subject in such a wise and discreet way that many did not even notice it and were carried away by the flow of her words, including herself. Rikako, however, knew her well enough not to be so easily swept away by her waters.

To Rikako she was a diamond whose brilliance dazzled others, though she was unaware of it. When she saw that some students dared to hug her in greeting, she felt only disgust. Yashiro was capable of enlightening everyone, but that did not mean that she would show everything she was, and less to mere passing faces she came across. If she herself had difficulty entering her thoughts, the others could barely hear the sound that the shocking waves of her mind produced.

“Are you perhaps worried about me leaving the academy?” Yashiro asked in an amused tone.

It was her last year at the Ousou Academy and as soon as she finished saying those words, the young Oryo’s face was illuminated by a weak smile. Yashiro had to blink and narrow her eyes, for that gesture was so unusual and foreign to her, that for a moment she believed it was a mere distortion of her mind. However, Rikako remained unmoved by her own reaction, as if she were unable to perceive her surroundings, and the reigning silence somehow raced her heart.

Yashiro found herself truly shocked, and the strange regret embraced her with a strong shudder that ran down her entire back. The worry that had bothered her before, grew even stronger in her mind like a dagger. For some strange reason she felt a greater responsibility in her presence, and imagining herself outside that establishment made her wonder what would become of Rikako’s life onward. What would become of her existence, even outside the Ousou Academy. Though the smile that hung on her lips filled her with hope, she still remembered in great detail the darkness that covered her in mere seconds.

“I’ll tell you when I find it,” continued the elder, with a palpable honesty in her voice. “I hope you can find meaning in your works… I’m sure your father would be proud of you.”


	5. 4

Darkness hung over her like a cold, sticky blanket. She was in a river of scarlet water, so far from the shore that the current seemed to guide her of its own free will. She wanted to scream, but a superior force prevented her from doing so. Her body was so weak that she could hardly move or fight to avoid drowning. The roar of the waves against the stones on the sides was distant and deafening, and for a brief moment she fell asleep. A feeling of forgetfulness and deep calm that made her long for sleep.

She heard her name in the distance as a longing whisper, which was then slowly consumed by the wind until she was suddenly swept away by the violent waters. Despite struggling to surface, her lungs released what little oxygen they contained, and right then, she felt that she could reach the clouds with her hands. Her heartbeat stopped completely and she felt nothing but time melt away. She stretched out her hands with all the strength she had left, looking for something to hold on to, hoping for a miracle that she knew would never come.

The waterfall was like a sweet farewell, and when she began to fall at an immeasurable speed, a shudder ran through her spine. She felt the cold air sink into her bones, filling her with a deep emptiness over and over again, like an endless torment that slowly killed her, without doing so at all. At such moments, death was appealing to her, but somehow, she never hit bottom, she was caught in its waters.

Someone brought her back to reality, “Yashiro?”

The jump she made from her seat was like a bug bite. The instant she opened her eyes, she felt her eyelids so heavy that urged her to go back to sleep. The truth was that, at those moments, the last thing she wanted was to close them. She still had the cold of the waters engraved on her senses, the implacable abyss that the fall represented. Her mind was always too busy to make room for such images, and she found it inhospitable to have them.

She kept remembering in extreme detail her helplessness in the river, as she was guided into the arms of death. For several seconds she stood motionless, her fists clenched on the table and her eyes on a fixed point which she ignored, for she was not yet able to fully assimilate reality and her body seemed to be divided. She felt a cold sweat on her back that shook her, and she breathed heavily as if she had been running around the academy. Sometimes, the human mind could become extremely chilling even to the wearer himself.

“When was the last time you slept?”

The same female voice cut through the silence again with some insistence. Yashiro closed her eyes to rejoin, and when she opened them again, she sought out the author of the interruption, though deep down she was truly grateful. Half a meter away stood none other than Shimotsuki Mika and her two childhood friends. They were always together, from the time they left class until the sun went down, inseparable as ever.

The first one did not stop shooting a glare at her with her energetic brown eyes, and if it was not for the fact that she always had her hair up in a ponytail and her bangs falling unkempt on her forehead, an adolescent and rebellious style, she would have given her a few more years. She had both hands on her waist, and the inquisitive look she gave her seemed to burn with enthusiasm. Yashiro drew a faint smile, holding her lips steady. Her throat was dry from the time she had spent sleeping and she had to clear her voice before she could speak.

“It’s just that exam dates are coming up,” Yashiro lied, waving a hand so they would not mind.

The trio watched her in surprise for a few moments, absorbed, perhaps, due to the obvious tiredness in her eyes. Yashiro snorted, wondering how it would feel to go unnoticed by everyone in the academy, what it would be like to be free of that strange responsibility. She found sometimes suffocating the heightened interest they had for her. After all, she was a flesh and blood person like them, and being the last year it mattered little to her getting the best grades, unlike the others.

The literature teacher was the one who had asked her why her performance had dropped that year. She could not understand the student who always passed, and who continued to do so, preferred not to finish the works given and, on the contrary, to stay with the minimum and necessary grade. The only one who had understood her position was Professor Toma, who in his last year had had the same apathetic feeling as she and was simply imagining what he would do once he graduated.

“What a nightmare, huh?” Shimotsuki guessed. “It’s normal to have nightmares sometimes.”

Yashiro frowned. Her stomach was roaring furiously. The last thing she remembered was heading to the dining room for lunch, waiting for the company of Rikako Oryo. She looked around with a quick glance, but realized that no one was there. It must have been at least an hour. If she had class, she would have been absent by now. At the time, however, she wondered what would be so important in the mind of the young Oryo that she would have to skip lunch. When she finally focused on the girl’s words she smiled again sweetly.

“I don’t usually have dreams, and end up forgetting the few I have. It’s been a while since I’ve got this feeling, which is most incredible… but terrifying.”

She tilted her head slightly and then they sat down in front of her, side by side as if nothing and no one could separate them. Almost instantaneously, she began to plan different possible ways to end the conversation. The problem with all three of them was Shimotsuki, because she talked her ears off. But, at the same time, she was an easy girl to convince. That is probably why she disliked her presence. And when she looked into her eyes, the gap widened even more. She did not see a face, rather a reflection.

“Why you say so?” Yoshika Okubo asked, resting her cheeks on her fists.

The light brown eyes rested on her with curiosity and a little dazed, combining with the brown hair she had gathered into two pigtails. Yashiro straightened in the chair by leaning her back against the backrest. The dream she had was abominable and she could not suppress a yawn, which she only managed to hide behind the palm of her hand. For a few seconds her eyes closed so tightly that when she opened them again, she had to rub them with her hands. She was not really thinking about the question, her mind was just wondering what had happened to the young Oryo, so she took a long time to answer.

“Did you watch _Inception_?” Yashiro inquired, receiving a nod. “You take dream as reality itself, it’s only when you awake you realize its rarity or peculiarity. Dreams don’t terrify me because of the meaning they contain, but because they’re mere illusions. I don’t like to conceive a perfect and unlimited world where I can be and have everything, I prefer the simplicity and fineness of this world around us.”

The three young women looked at her with open mouths as if she had spoken in an incomprehensible language. It seemed that they would never find a word to contradict her, or perhaps make her doubt her way of thinking. Yashiro let out a crooked smile, feeling a void that filled her entire chest. The surprise in those girls was as hot as fire, but it burned away with the slightest breath. They might be completely stunned at the time, but once they changed the subject, which was most likely, they would forget all that had been said as if it had never really happened.

“Interesting, never thought it that way…”

While Shimotsuki nodded a couple of times at her own words, as if she had found the answer to a complex riddle, her two friends continued to stare at her in puzzlement. A mysterious silence developed where each found herself prey to her own thoughts. Yashiro assumed that neither would give an opinion on the matter, and as Shimotsuki was strangely pensive, she glanced peacefully at the only two that remained, looking for any relevant clues.

“First time I see you fall asleep,” the young Kawarazaki pointed out quietly.

Yashiro studied her face, noting the short, dark hair that must have attracted the attention of many other students. Despite her shyness, her eyes were large and they looked at her intently without missing any details. She deduced that she was very suspicious, but also quite sensitive. She probably avoided drawing attention to herself in public. She could sense this when she discovered her hands together on her legs in a hesitant and somewhat fearful position. When Yashiro's eyes connected with hers, she even imagined her lowering all her defensive barriers at once, to give herself completely to the arms of another person.

“Kagami, she’s human, you know?” Okubo reproached her, nudging her gently.

Kawarazaki's cheeks turned red and she looked down for a moment. Yashiro squinted for a few seconds as the two of them engaged in a smile. Kawarazaki and Okubo were so much alike that even the Sibyl System itself might consider them a suitable match. Even their own relationships were previously advised by something outside of the individual's will. What would they think about that? She had a feeling they wouldn't be too interested in the idea of talking about such things. She turned her attention to the short-haired one, assuming she was going to say something, but she kept staring at the table as if she had witnessed a ghost.

“Strange to see you having lunch without Oryo,” Shimotsuki broke the silence.

Yashiro tilted her head toward her, squinting for a fraction of a second. Sometimes she enjoyed exaggerating, as she did with disbelief. In some ways, the mere mention of her partner made her forget the presence of the other two girls, as if they were fading into the background. Shimotsuki was frowning, staring at her inquisitively the way she always tried to intimidate everyone, though it did not have much effect on her.

For some reason she had always felt a dislike for Rikako, when she was always praised by most students and teachers. Somehow, she could not help but give a twisted smile at her derogatory tone. She felt a sudden curiosity creep up her throat, which she managed to expose by arching her eyebrow in a faint, friendly manner.

“What’s the reason for this hatred, if I may ask?” Yashiro asked cautiously.

Shimotsuki leaned on one hand, drawing a deep breath. She began to fiddle with her hair as silence came between the women present, until she finally reached out to Yashiro as if to capture her attention to tell a secret, or something that was forbidden. She, however, remained in the same position, waiting for her to drop what she had to say. The paranoid look on her face did not cause her much fear, and she began to grow impatient.

“She’s very smug,” Shimotsuki spat, raising her head and closing her eyes, “and she’s always kind of looking away, I feel she’s such an empty person… the few times she looked at me was chilling. Reminds me of Okiku, the possessed doll…”

The comparison brought out Yashiro’s long, heartfelt laugh as she covered her eyes with one hand and tried to hold herself back, unable to see the paranoid gaze of the young Shimotsuki any longer. She was certain that if Rikako were to find herself there, she would end up reacting in the same way.

“Oh please…! Don’t tell me you believe in such urban legends,” the young Okubo interrupted the story, as she circled her eyes, “I really like her. You shouldn’t be taken in by appearances, Mika.”

The silence broke through, dividing them each with their own thoughts. While the three students were engaged in dark and grim reflection, Yashiro continued with the same playful smile on her lips. She savored every word from the depths of her being. She had not expected such a response, and the fear it signified was thrilling. The young Oryo gave light to all who crossed her path, and yet she could cause the opposite with the same simplicity.

“True. And you shouldn’t speak ill of her behind her back,” Kawarazaki refuted.

A pause again. Yashiro was amused by the way Rikako was taken. The mere mention of her name made them nervous, as if she would appear there as a spirit when summoned.

“Sorry. Guess I went a bit too far.”

At Shimotsuki's comment, Yashiro squinted for a fraction of a second, not turning her attention away from the girl's contrite gestures. She did not, however, turn off the smile on her face, managing to ease the tense atmosphere instantly. The three students smiled again in unison and their delicate bodies relaxed in the seats. Yashiro stretched out again with her back against the backrest, so that the trio would not feel cornered. When she did, the short-haired one seemed to sigh.

“Don’t worry,” Yashiro assured firmly. “I’m flattered you trust me in telling me these concerns.”

Shimotsuki stood solemnly at her words, something strange in her usual hyperactivity, until finally the barrier she held was broken down and a genuine smile lit up her face. For a long time, they remained silent, watching each other.

“By the way, Yashiro… shouldn’t you be in class?” Okubo snapped, changing the subject drastically.

Yashiro looked down seriously for a few seconds and when she returned it to her classmates, she smiled weakly with an almost motherly sweetness that captivated them. Then she glanced at her digital watch, coming to the conclusion that it was not worth going to class with half an hour to go.

“Welcome to my world,” Shimotsuki snorted after rising from her seat. “If we see your mates, we tell them you went to the nurse's office because you were feeling sick. At least it always works for me.”

Yashiro thanked her for the gesture, and when they said goodbye, she had to make an effort not to hesitate to smile, as she found Shimotsuki's wink a bit annoying. Still, she felt that the conversation had been largely worthwhile. She did not know them at all, and they were willing to help her when she had not asked for any favors. She followed them with her eyes until they passed through the large dining room, and then stood up ready to leave, following their example.

Her footsteps echoed through the lonely corridors, and the sound of the wind coming in through the windows whispered delicately in her ears. She knew where to find Rikako so she made her way to the art room, where she spent her afternoons alone most of the time. Before she opened the door, she managed to hear not only her imperturbable voice, but that of a man who sounded familiar.

“I know about plastination,” Rikako was saying, having to prick up her ears to hear it better, “which is a technique for preserving biological material.”

Yashiro placed both hands on the surface of the door, but something inside her prevented her from opening it. Rikako's voice exposed, for the first time, an impetuous, great joy, as if she were aware that she was speaking about something important and nothing or no one had to interrupt her.

“Perfect,” the male voice replied, acknowledging that it belonged to Professor Toma. “We’ll talk later.”

Yashiro stepped gently away from the door as she heard the teacher's footsteps in her direction, and for a brief moment the urge to walk to the opposite side of the hall, to wait for him to leave, crossed her mind. She felt like a little girl trying to go unnoticed. Clearly, it was Kozaburo Toma. How could he be interested in chemistry? Curiosity took over her body and she waited. When the door opened, the man stood in front of her with a scowl.

“Yashiro. Shouldn't you be in class?”

When he uttered her name, he did so in a hoarse tone, almost exasperated by her presence. Yashiro noticed that he was gently squeezing the shoulder strap of his satchel with one hand, as if he were tense. She wanted to take a look inside the room, but instead she held his gaze and tilted her head to the side, uncaring. Toma decided to close the door behind him with a slight suspicion. He looked like a lovesick teenager being discovered by someone else at the height of his powers, and she had to restrain herself from smiling.

“Things that happen,” Yashiro shrugged. “And you… since when you’re interested in the younger ones?”

Toma let out a slightly exaggerated laugh at her comment and gave her a mocking smile. He was silent and, after a few seconds, bowed his head to her with a certain arrogance.

“I’ve always considered jealousy to be a powerful base… but in your case it’s quite endearing.”

The man’s words echoed in the mind of Yashiro, who arched one eyebrow in complete disgust at the conclusion he had drawn. She soon realized the misunderstanding and a strange discomfort swept over her. She merely shook her head, however, reflecting a small smile on her lips. Only then did Toma say goodbye by placing his hand on her shoulder for a second, and turned to walk down the hall.

He placed one hand in his pocket, while the other was raised in a clear gesture of farewell. The kindness on Yashiro's face faded as she lost sight of him. She decided, at last, to enter the room. As usual, the stupefaction could simply be concealed by Rikako, so that when she saw her, she did not even blink at her unexpected presence.

“Let me guess,” commented the young Oryo, raising her head, “you finished your work early and your teacher let you out.”

The newcomer gave her a long, subtle smile, stopping in the middle of the room to look at her as if it had been years since they had last seen each other. She was completing a drawing and Yashiro approached her slowly until she was a few feet away. The image of Kozaburo Toma was still in her mind with every detail of his face, and Rikako seemed to sense what she was thinking because her lips moved fleetingly, as if they had almost smiled and then regretted it.

“What could be the relationship between social science and chemistry?” Yashiro questioned vividly.

She was teasing her the way she always did and Rikako could tell instantly. The latter gave her a grim look, though Yashiro simply shrugged her shoulders in amusement. Silence reigned in the room again and the gentle breeze from the window seemed like a deathly whistle. As the young Oryo continued to stare at her in a vile manner, as if she really resented her being there, she stood completely upright and calm, until she let out an innocent smile, showing her white, unpolluted teeth. She had a rather peculiar sense of humor, and Rikako merely shook her head, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

“Professor Toma and I have a lot in common. He’s willing to inspire me with my future works,” Rikako explained as she drew on the paper again.

Yashiro knew that something was being kept from her, but chose not to dwell on the subject any further. She had screwed up for a brief moment and felt fulfilled. Still, she was curious about the conversation Toma had had with Rikako. She wondered what relationship plastination had with her works, if any at all.

They were definitely up to something, but she was not willing to demand answers. Everyone had secrets and everyone could decide whether to hide them or make them public. She only hoped that Rikako would choose well those she told her own. Some people were too quick to trust those who did not earn their words, and she hoped from deep within that Rikako was not one of them.

Yashiro looked down as she nodded a couple of times and headed for the window to look out. Rikako, on the other hand, carefully analyzed her with such cool solemnity that it even made a noise in Yashiro's mind. She seemed worried or rather alarmed by her presence, as if she might become a threat in such moments. Something strange, unusual between the two of them. And for the first time it was she who was changing the subject. Yashiro then discovered the way she behaved when she was uncomfortable.

“Did you fall asleep again?” Rikako asked, reading her mind. The subsequent silence was the answer she sought, and she stopped drawing when she declared, “it’s because of your parents, isn’t it?”

Yashiro squinted for a thousandth of a second, without looking away from the outside. The words remained present, filling the space with a penetrating yet grim calm. A shudder ran down her spine and she lifted her head a few inches as she relaxed her shoulders.

Despite being lost in the routine movements of the other students, her mind was unable to avoid the faces of the two people who had brought her into the world. She stared out the window, completely calm, even though she was surprised inside that the young woman was able to find out about her family. She had underestimated her and, in a way, she was proud of her. When she finally managed to push the images away, she took a deep breath.

“I’ve always been curious since I met you. Why is she so different from the others? What makes her special?” Rikako continued, half-opening her eyes. “So, I did some research into your past. But there’s one part of the story that doesn’t add up.”

Yashiro squinted in a fleeting moment, as if watching a great explosion in the distance. Then she turned to her, drawn by the words that, though they sounded melodious, turned out to be daggers to her ears. Her face seemed emaciated, so solemn that even Rikako felt the weight of her gaze. She had never seen such a reaction from her before, and she had to make a great effort not to give away her nervousness.

“Which one?” Yashiro blurted out.

Rikako rose to approach her, showing the greatest interest in her eyes. Her footsteps broke through the silence of the room and as the distance between them grew shorter, Rikako had to fight off the obvious threat reflected in her partner’s presence. In those moments, she looked like a predator about to attack her prey. She was aware that she was invading her space, but she wanted deep down to dare to look through the keyhole, like a small child who cannot resist curiosity. She stopped about three feet away, standing motionless and completely upright while looking into her eyes, those who seemed to want to break her right there.

“The end in which a girl comes out completely unscathed, with the psycho pass in perfect condition.”

For a long time, each remained focused on the other like two rivals analyzing their possible attacks. Time, rigorous and immovable, suddenly lacked all meaning. Yashiro found herself as rigid as a stone, unable to think clearly. It was the first time in her life that anyone had ever dared to surprise her in such a manner, and for a few brief moments she felt her breath go out. Rikako, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the victory she had achieved with a few simple words. Despite everything around was falling apart for Yashiro, she managed to respond with the same indifference that characterized her in times of uncertainty.

“I guess Sibyl spared my life.”

Rikako opened her eyes further, remaining in the same position to study Yashiro in a profound way. If she were another student, she would likely have walked away, fearful of the mysterious emptiness expressed in the gaze of the young Oryo. Yashiro just stood there, however, as if she were a corpse whose will was no longer her own.

“It has a very particular way of judging people, don’t you think?”

The smile that had formed on Rikako’s face was both dark and mysterious, and her eyes shone with desire and pride. She raised her head a few inches, implying that she knew far more than her partner would have expected. Yashiro tilted her head to lose her focus on the ceiling, and instantly drew an ironic grimace at the corner of her mouth, revealing her teeth. She gestured in denial a few times, never ceasing to observe the nothingness, and when she finally noticed Rikako’s presence again she turned to her.

Her appearance changed as if all the anger she had been holding back until then had suddenly dissipated. The subtlety of her gaze was such that Rikako could not help but frown at how little she knew of her. Yashiro seemed to sense her dismay, as she took a few slow steps to stand in front of her, staying inches away from her face, with the gentle sound of her breath as her only companion. Her silver eyes turned to iron and fire, though a sweet smile lit up her face.

“That’s the system that rules our country today, incomprehensible,” Yashiro whispered in her ears.

When she walked away again, Rikako narrowed her eyes and glared at her. She could feel the embracing flames that Yashiro was trying so hard to contain, the ice in her eyes that longed to tear everything around her. Rikako, however, dared to smile tenderly, in such a bold manner that even she was surprised.

“And most harmed are the innocent like your mother, right?”

The pleasure Rikako felt in those moments was so great that her lips parted for a short second, almost as if she were holding back. To her amazement, however, Yashiro allowed herself to nod silently, returning the vastness of the chasm that her eyes represented, those that suddenly seemed to lack the necessary strength to threaten her. Her mother’s confused and frightened face was still so vivid in her mind, that seeing her disappear produced an endless void within her.

Yashiro decided to step aside, heading for the exit. Rikako’s words kept burning her from a distance and she had no longer any desire to continue the conversation. As she opened the door, she frowned and was petrified; for a fleeting moment she thought the wood was stained with blood. She closed her eyes, realizing that it was only a twisted trick of her mind, and sighed, then resumed her walk as if that would ease her heart.

Rikako followed her with her eyes until she disappeared completely from her sight, and somehow, she felt she had made a mistake. She was not one to regret her actions, but for the first time she was stating to herself that she would have wished to take another path. For some strange reason, like her father, Yashiro was a person who would not be willing to lose. And seeing her walk in the opposite direction somehow made her feel a hole in her lungs.

Yashiro was so distracted by those moments that she was not even able to notice the prominent white-haired figure that emerged from the hallway, standing at the entrance to the room with a book in his hands, as he watched her leave quietly and carefully. Then, when he saw that the young woman was far enough away, he decided to open the door of the room where the young Oryo was still immersed in her work.


	6. 5

Rikako perfected one of her works with extreme delicacy, imagining how it would look outside the paper, listening to the famous cheering of the audience before the creation. She could not help but smile sweetly. She was dying to show them the fruit of her skills. She longed to make such an impression that the viewers would die of dismay, then finally realize that what their eyes were seeing was real. She left her hand outstretched on the paper, closing her eyes, to feel the excitement numbing her senses and leaving her breathless in her lungs. She wondered what her father would say about her at that very moment, and remembered the flaming words of Yashiro.

_“Come, night, and blindfold the kindhearted day. Use your bloody and invisible hand to tear up Banquo’s lease on life, which keeps me in fear.”_

Makishima Shougo read aloud more for himself than for others, as if he were rejoicing over the words again and again, in a majestic and relentless chant. He was lost in a narrative climax that Rikako recognized after a pause, raising her head a few inches and closing her eyes.

_“The sky’s getting dark, and the crow is returning home to the woods. The gentle creatures of the day are falling asleep, while night’s predators are waking up to look for their prey.”_

Makishima smiled proudly as he sat a few feet behind her. With one leg over the other and his body fully upright, he held a copy of Macbeth and subtly stroked one of the pages with his index finger. Whenever a work caught his attention, he would often get lost in it as if he were memorizing the letters, every feeling he encountered while reading. Rikako let out a knowing smile.

“Do you have the pleasure of reading Shakespeare’s tragedies in class?”

The teacher’s lips were thinly open, as if the idea had floated in the air just as it was exposed, and he was still able to taste it from within. Rikako looked down a few seconds, recalling her literature lessons while the other studied her expectantly. Her classmates chatted among themselves while the teacher read with a completely empty look and a constant, lifeless tone that lulled her to sleep. She even chose to distract herself by reading something different, more interesting.

“No, unfortunately. We’ve only read some of his comedies, which are more boring and lack the same cruelty and suffering,” Rikako replied, focusing again on her drawing. “I think it’s precisely because of the themes they deal with that they have never been taught to us. They must think their reading could raise our stress level. I don’t blame them— that’s exactly what could happen.”

Makishima stood up and walked to the window to watch the first raindrops fall, one hand in his yellow trouser pocket and the other holding the book he was carrying under his arm, unable to part with it. Rikako blinked and was completely speechless as she realized that it was right there where Yashiro had been minutes before. The memory of her face surrounded her like a cold cloth, and for an instant she remained with the brush stuck to the paper without being able to continue, despite the fact that she forced herself to do so with all her might.

“Have you thought about where you could work with the paintings in private?”

Rikako was mentally grateful that his voice took her away from herself, as she could not stop thinking about the past. Makishima, on the other hand, stood motionless like a sculpture as he saw several students running for cover inside the academy, such ants being surprised by nature. His eyes danced to the rhythm of the tiny figures with a faint smile on his lips. He seemed to enjoy seeing them scattered about the courtyard, covering their hair uselessly with their hands, and hurling all sorts of insults at the melancholy weather. For the two of them, however, it was most charming. Rikako used to find more inspiration to draw and Makishima managed to concentrate even better when reading, immersing himself in the reading with the sound of water in his ears.

“I know a place that might be useful to you,” he turned to her, with a gesture indicating that she should accompany him.

The young Oryo, confused and excited in the same way, abandoned her drawing to follow the art teacher until she reached a place far away from curious glances. She wondered how he could gain access to information such as the one she was about to appreciate, and when the large door opened automatically, after Makishima had authorized it with his mobile device, Rikako stepped into the large, expansive room around her, feeling vulnerable, for rarely did anyone manage to impress her as he had in a few seconds. It looked like an enormous, abandoned and empty factory to the naked eye, but Rikako allowed herself to dream that it had been something more complex in the past.

“When the academy was renovated, this facility disappeared from the plans,” the man explained, persisting in his walk without looking at her.

Rikako continued to walk around the place, watching every corner. She wondered where he had gotten the original plans for the academy, but she remembered that it was none other than Makishima Shougo; the information was something he could easily get whenever he set his mind to it. His ease with words had led him there, and in some ways Rikako felt an admiration for him.

“That is to say, no one is aware of its existence,” Rikako agreed, caressing the academy’s characteristic red scarf. “All Professor Toma and I need now is the right equipment.”

A brief smile seemed to illuminate Makishima’s face, as if he were savoring victory. He had a look full of secrets and details that he was not willing to offer her, and that Rikako, in turn, was not interested in asking him either. It was then that the young woman was silent for a long time. She wondered how he could get others to grant him everything he asked for without any difficulty. The amount of contact he must have had was exuberant, as was his impressive ability to persuade others.

“Leave that to me.”

Rikako scowled at him, this time to connect with his eyes and seek the truth behind them. She returned empty-handed, however. As always, Makishima’s appearance denoted the purest goodness and simplicity, but there was an enigmatic feeling that was conveyed to her, something that was far beyond what his gaze or behavior reflected. Rikako perceived his company as that of a stranger, and that caused her more curiosity than fear. She had always had a way of sniffing out people who were hiding something, like some of her classmates who were having family problems at home, and tried to keep it from affecting her grades.

Rikako could sense the fear in others, she was able to glimpse the concern a person had for something really wanted to forget. Sometimes, spending most of the time in silence and alone helped improve perception. And Rikako had indeed squeezed everything she could out of her loneliness. When she observed Makishima, on the contrary, everything went into darkness. She was unable to perceive anything in him, she found him an impenetrable book with blank pages. He seemed to walk on a line laid out by and for him, aware of its thickness and the weight it supported. Rikako had never met anyone like him before.

“What is it that motivates you to do this?” She asked suddenly. “To help the students.”

For a brief and fleeting moment, Rikako swore she saw a playful smile on his face. His eyes narrowed in a sly manner and studied her deeply, as if she were asking a question whose answer was more than obvious.

“A teacher’s role is to light the way for students. You all, one day, will flourish in the undergrowth, and I look forward to being there when that happens.”

Rikako felt her entire chest swell as if those words ignited something within her. She even imagined the tall figure of Yashiro where he was standing exactly, like a hologram that stepped into the way. Makishima lifted his head a few millimeters and returned it to the same position, in a gesture of joy and a certain arrogance that she knew well.

“About that student … Yashiro.”

Makishima had to make an effort to remember the name. He closed his eyes intently until he looked back at the young woman again. Rikako could not help but remember her last encounter with her, and she automatically averted her eyes from the man so that he would not notice her distress. She wondered where Yashiro was, and especially how she was doing with her memories. Every time she thought about it, she felt her insides twist and turn, and it was difficult for her to get her out of her mind.

"Takahashi Yashiro," she completed.

Makishima paused for a long time, immersed in his own thoughts. Rikako had the feeling that he was memorizing the name. When something managed to interest him, he did everything in his power to get his hands on it. And in a way, he gave Rikako a brief shudder.

“Do you think she could be an ally?”

Rikako pondered over it for a few moments as the teacher watched her attentively, squinting. She remembered the way her partner had been behaving the past few days, because of her past and the ghosts that returned in hallucinations. She could see her face emaciated by her dark circles, the insomnia that forced her to sleep at any time and in any place.

“Her judgment has been a little impaired lately,” the young Oryo confessed, looking down. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

What really caught her attention was that Makishima had heard her conversation with Yashiro. Had he been spying on her, perhaps? Rikako even smiled wryly. In the end, Yashiro was not the only one with the strange hobby of spying on people.

“I can give her vision back.”

Makishima held a firm and unrelenting stance, turning to head for the exit. Rikako took advantage of the moment to raise an eyebrow in surprise and disbelief. Still, the man was utterly convinced that he would make it, almost as if it were a matter of course for him. Rikako could tell, as she watched his walk, that he had a particular habit of ignoring others when he had already gotten what he wanted. The image of Yashiro returned to her mind once more, and she had to close her eyes for a second to focus.

“You can’t enter her mind unless she allows you to,” Rikako warned, pausing his walk halfway, “at least I’ve always tried to open its doors… but I can barely look through the keyhole.”

Her words succeeded in filling him with a stupefaction that he did not deign to conceal. With a slightly arched eyebrow, he tilted his head in her direction to scrutinize her out of the corner of his eye with a dismal, haughty glow.

“Not to worry.”

Makishima curled his lips in an honest smile, as he resumed his pace. The truth was, the more extravagant and difficult a tool was, the funnier it was for him to use it.


	7. 6

The day was perfectly cloudy and humid, the streets of the city were crowded with vehicles and citizens who exchanged a glance when they received an external stimulus, as a concrete example, having to stop for traffic signs, thus finding on the other side of the street other people with similar objectives, most of them going to work, knowing that a few seconds later they will forget each other as an infant simply forgets his lost toy. The seats in the courtyard of the academy were cold and deserted, the only company was the sound of silence, so expectant, so lonely at the same time; few people could appreciate it and instead they feared it, ignored it. However, Yashiro had realized the beauty of its smallness.

When the wind blew on her face and made her look away, a mystical apparition left her motionless. It was a figure sitting on one of the stone seats, with one leg over the other and his hands together, staring at the sky in astonishment, as if grey sweetened his whole being. A person who was watching, not looking. At that moment, she was tormented by the acknowledged desire to sit next to him and analyze his reaction. Would he be surprised by the unexpected closeness? Would he walk away from her out of discomfort? Or would he give up telling her all his problems, as many old people used to do in the squares?

And yet, her body moved away from the image her mind kept recording, unaware that she had walked to the library, where she often stayed to pass the time. The human absence from that room was exorbitant, and she adored it. She headed to the science fiction area and picked up a book she had started reading a few days before, which it was still in the same position; evidently, fewer and fewer people were interested in reading or even approaching books, as if the mere presence of these released a terrifying aura.

Like an algorithm following its programming, she first felt the scent of the pages and then succumbed to the pleasure of wrapping herself in a different world, letting her thoughts flow freely until she reached a mental climax. Deep down she longed to convey what she felt with someone who would listen attentively, of his own free will, and as far as possible, show a different opinion, excluded from any outside influence. The books filled the emptiness that was eating away at her, but one way or another, when she took her eyes off the pages, the characters would eventually disappear, and she found no substitute other than her own imagination.

 _“I am the verb, and my name cannot be pronounced. It is the name which no one knows. They call me Ubik, but Ubik is not my name. I am. I shall always be,”_ a soft voice emerged that seemed from a distant, unreachable dream.

After looking up, she found a tall young man with striking amber eyes and completely snow-white hair. He was dressed in yellow vest and trousers, as well as wearing matching moccasins. Although he would be only a few years older than her, his appearance made him more imposing. She smiled suddenly at his style, but remembered the image of the courtyard and her expression darkened as she realized it was the same man she had seen before. Yashiro merely nodded in understanding, and the stranger proceeded to sit in the nearest chair, in a formal, inquisitive posture.

“The metaphor of God,” Yashiro blurted out thoughtfully.

With one leg crossed over the other, he leaned forward as he scrutinized her with his sly, prominent eyes, at once cordial and penetrating. The man kept a look of professional kindness on his face, a firm and determined attention that was immersed in Yashiro, whom he did not know, but studied very carefully, attracted by something she was not aware of, as he raised his head a few inches in a defiant gesture.

“The spray can is only a form that Ubik takes to make it easier for people to understand it and use it,” the man concurred. “It is not the substance inside the can that helps them, but rather their faith in the promise that it will help them.”

Yashiro half-opened her eyes to the music of his words, one that seemed to sync with her, and she felt her heart tremble with both surprise and fascination. It had been a long time since she had heard that name, and nostalgia invaded every inch of her mind. It was strange for her to talk about those subjects with someone else; after all, who would want to talk about books when there was the network, the CommuFields, where one could be and do what one wanted? Besides, who would spend time reading in person when audiobooks existed?

“Every individual who dares to immerse himself in the works of Philip K. Dick is worthy of my attention,” the strange gentleman said, letting a tenuous smile shine on his lips. “I would be glad to talk, to whom do I owe the honor?”

Yashiro frowned. She had a feeling that the young man was not used to spending words with just anyone, was as or more reserved than she was, and the fact that he was there, made her overflow with curiosity. Yashiro knew almost everyone at the Ousou Academy, but she had never seen him.

“Takahashi Yashiro.”

In a slow, cautious motion, both strangers shook their hands warmly.

“Shibata Yukimori.”

Yashiro stared at him for a long time in silence, like a sculpture whose meaning had to be found. She studied his features and his unruffled appearance, strangely moved. She left Dick’s copy on a small table next to her and stretched out on her armchair. Professor Shibata did the same with the book he had, and turned back on the backrest, hands clasped in a thoughtful and certainly proud gesture, while he continued to examine her.

“Rousseau was ahead of his time in stating that man is condemned to be free, but he is everywhere in chains,” he declared, gesturing with his hands. “What are we willing to sacrifice for welfare, order, peace? As John Stuart Mill anticipated centuries ago: today’s society is fully aware of individuality, and the danger that looms over human nature is no longer excess, but a lack of personal impulse and preference. And a human being without desire or impulse has no more character than a steam engine.”

Yashiro’s eyes twinkled filled with complicity and bewilderment, she felt the hatred within him in her own flesh, melting her into the whirlwind of words she knew so well, which took her breath away with the force of a blow. When she decided to join the current, she did so with the same impetus like an avalanche of ideas, and she was no longer able to contain her speech gestures and the indignant tone of her voice.

“The tyranny of custom,” she pointed out, grimacing with her lips. “Any singularity of taste, any originality of conduct is avoided as if it were a crime—”

“Because it really is!” The young man lashed out, stretching out one of his hands. “As soon as the social order is broken, price is paid by everyone: both by those who corrupt it to do harm… and by those who decide to take the risk of being different by creating something new. Because the Sibyl System finds no difference, it only regulates the entities, each and every one of them, as if they were one.”

Freedom has consequences, as there will always be someone who steps out of line, who breaks the barriers imposed by the system. The fact that each brain is a complex and mysterious universe full of stars, makes the carrier a unique entity within society. And that implies that there will always be someone who holds a different view of what well-being represents. Was that the end of humanity, in every sense of the word? Were they really to sacrifice their nature for the sake of order and peace? Yashiro remembered Roichi Oryo and his intriguing paintings, which would then be dusty and lying in some room, with no audience to give them recognition and credit.

“An anthill where each individual comes to belong to society, serving his neighbor with a function that exploits his possibilities, but which is not conscious,” Yashiro agreed in a whisper. “And for people to develop, they have to live in an atmosphere of freedom. Otherwise, there will no longer be breakers of all traditions, calm, universal paradigm —just as Charles Darwin or Galileo Galileo was in his time…”

Yashiro regretted being born in that century. She dreamed of seeing completely free the inhabitants of a country, capable of controlling themselves without an external authority, but she saw it as difficult, there were still centuries to go; and in spite of this, she kept imagining superior humans walking around in museums and watching, amidst laughter, the dominator, the murders, the religions —until they felt ashamed of their predecessor and turned away from such an aberration.

She discovered one detail they had in common, and that was that neither of them was bothered by moments of silence. Many of her companions preferred to talk about anything rather than find that fearful void —a true companion for those who really knew how to listen. As a result, the greatness of words had diminished to the point that people said too much, but talked little. The man turned to the window overlooking the outside and faint rays of light fused with the amber glow of his eyes.

“People can choose, but they are unable to act based on their individual interests. They have freedom, but they can’t exercise it,” he refuted softly, making a long pause. “The value of a State is that of the individuals who compose it, but when it dwarfs its members, when it postpones their intellectual expansion to increase that of its administrative abilities, it realizes that the perfection of the mechanism for which it has sacrificed them lacks of vital power, since in order for the mechanism to function, it decided to destroy the source of that power —the individual.”

When he finished his speech, silence came between the two of them for a few moments. Yashiro sought inspiration in the distance with an enigmatic smile on her face, as the young man studied her features in a profound way as if he were trying to see through her eyes. A dreamy, somewhat thoughtful expression that seemed beyond her reach. In a certain way, it conveyed hope.

“You are an inhabitant of Kafka’s castle,” she guessed, narrowing her eyes, “you chose to stay and protect it even though you could leave, even though… the doors were closed to you from the very beginning.”

Yashiro frowned at the man’s analytical gaze, which at the time denoted a weight that while he tried to hide, she could recognize as her own. For a split second a lopsided smile escaped him and his gaze returned to the bookcase behind Yashiro, as if he were unable to exchange another glance with her.

He must have felt different and excluded, but he still loved that city from the depths of his heart. An indescribable feeling that he could not explain in words, he could only feel it inside him pulsating gently and slowly, in a constant way. Perhaps it was true that everyone, before they died, returned to one place —the place where they had been born. For no matter how dangerous, small or dirty it was, the memories of childhood that lived there would remain buried forever.

“I was born in this city, and so I feel the responsibility to do something about it, not to let it perish,” the young man confessed with a bitter sigh. “If you had everything at your disposal, wouldn’t you be willing to free society?”

Yashiro widened her eyes slowly, trying to hide her amazement. That was a hint she did not miss. That man, who seemed to enjoy dressing in a formal manner and speaking with obvious elegance to appear older than he really was, was inviting her to what she always knew would happen at some point. The way he expressed his ideas, the simplicity with which he changed the subject to take the receiver into another field, everything he appeared to be was tempting. He did not seem ordinary at all —in fact, what was terrifying about him was his intelligence.

“It’s society the one that must do it of its own free will.”

She noticed that the professor further opened his eyes, stunned by her words even though seconds later he returned to the same seriousness as before, as if it were not usual for him that someone would surprise him and deep down he did not want to admit it —not even to himself.

“While you wait for people to become aware of themselves, I act as soon as I have the opportunity to give them the power they need,” the strong-willed man declared.

“While you blame the Sibyl System, I blame the people,” she confronted him with a different conception, gesturing with her index finger as if she were touching her head. “Rational beings waiting to be judged by a weapon when reason should be enough to direct them. A free people would immediately create a government if it were taken away from them, carrying out public affairs in an intelligent and orderly manner.”

This time he was really astonished, and he did not know what to say. He seemed that for the first time someone had denied him something in his life, and he did not mind showing it off in his eyes at all. Yashiro was internally bewildered, for they appeared to have much in common. It was a shame that they would probably never see one another again. Because when they leave that library, they will meet thousands of faces and they will play at being one more. They will have to put on the costume in which (and as which) they were known, esteemed, and sought, and dressed like that, they will appear in society, that is, among people in disguise who do not want to be told that they are. She also acted with a discreet mask, and got rid of any curiosity that tried to go beyond the limits. However, for some reason, she had the feeling that this was a person she could talk to for hours, without getting exhausted or bored.

At that moment, a sharp and repetitive sound intruded into the surrounding environment, separating them from the strange trance in which they had succumbed. Yashiro blinked at the realization that it was coming from Professor Shibata, and it took him a few seconds to look away from her, as if he were persisting in searching for meaning in her words. He rolled up the left cuff of his white shirt and checked the time on his leather watch, disabling the alarm. The dial was shaped like a gear, and added to the rounded hands and Roman numerals, it gave it a Victorian style that brought a smile to Yashiro’s face.

“I’m afraid our talk has come to an end,” he said slowly, his lips parting in a gesture that expressed annoyance. “I have a class to teach in ten minutes.”

Yashiro leaned forward intuitively, unable to believe that time had passed so quickly. She had lessons too. She had forgotten it entirely, though she was not sorry for it at all. She knew that the teachers would not be angry with her, and in extreme cases she could always come up with some excuse or other. She was often warned that she had to be careful how she spoke, as she would beat about the bush unable to control herself, but there was always someone by her side to change the subject. On this occasion the opposite happened —neither of them was able to stop in the presence of the other, like wind and tide fighting for control of an ocean.

“I’m sorry to have delayed you so long…”

To Yashiro’s surprise, the man tilted his head to the side with a frown, as if he had heard the greatest of nonsense, and took the book he had left on a table. After a faint, pleasant smile he stood up and Yashiro did not know why, but she was drawn to the movement, which she imitated seconds later. When she raised her eyes again, she was surprised once more by the young man’s right hand, which was extended in her direction. Yashiro looked at it with a slight puzzlement, but the sincerity in his eyes made her yield and they shook hands one last time, though more delicately, as if he were showing respect to her.

“For this kind of conversation, I’d make it a habit to be late.”

His voice sounded so natural that what puzzled Yashiro most was the truth behind his words, the absence of any joke. Only then did she realize that, like her, he had not allowed his mind to wander in public in total freedom for some time, particularly in front of a complete stranger. They put the books on their respective shelves, and before leaving the library they bid farewell to the kind woman who was dusting the books, although in reality this was an obsession, as the atmosphere was always in perfect condition and the books were arranged according to their gender. One of the things that Yashiro would miss most about that academy.

“If there is a god playing dice with the world, I do hope it will be in our favor again next time,” he commented, with his eyes lost in the sky.

A gleam in his eye told her that he was being honest and Yashiro stared at him for a few moments, perhaps surprised at the fact that she thought the same. There was no doubt that the man emanated a different aura, no matter how many hundreds of others she might know around him. In another context, she dared to think that they might even have been friends. Yashiro did not regret listening to him. The words flowed as if of their own free will, and she realized how much she had needed it.

With a last look of farewell, their paths parted. Yashiro would still digest all the conversation they had had when she walked across the courtyard of the academy. She turned back to peer through the pile of students and she easily spotted the tall, slim figure in the distance, like a ghost that no one noticed. She decided to continue on her way, but she could not help wondering if he would have looked back as well as she did, if he would have the slightest curiosity to know about what she would do next. It was too late to find out, for when she turned around for the second time, she found transparent faces. His had gone down in history. What was his name? Shibata Yukimori. Though she was likely to forget it quickly as much as he would with a simple face he met in the library.


	8. 7

The flames rose softly in the fireplace, pushing the penumbras out of the room. The heat they emanated filled the whole room with an almost supernatural warmth. Makishima Shougo left the book he carried on the small table adjacent to his couch, staring into the dark as if he could see or hear something that was part of another dimension. At one point he heard slow footsteps in his direction, and he knew who was automatically as a peaceful, old melody made its way through the room, accompanying his walk. That mansion needed an owner to give it meaning, not just hunting dogs in the garden to show off its power.

“Always reading Bertrand Russell. I expected nothing less from you, Shougo.”

Makishima let out an amused smile at the comment, and he tilted his head toward the newcomer. As a public figure he used to wear formal clothing in order to maintain his reputation, however, when he was with him he was accustomed to wearing more casual outfits. In that case, it was a black sweater over a light blue shirt, with simple dark pants and leather shoes. He had always been of refined manners and conveyed this in his distinguished appearance, but also in his posture and movements. _La Traviat_ _a_ flooded the room in an ecstasy when it gave way to the Italian protagonist voice. _Libiamo, libiamo ne'lieti calici…_

“You know me well enough to realize I can’t resist, Senguji.”

The older man drew a half-smile, as he walked to his desk and lit the lamp on it. He liked to wipe every inch of his shotgun with a cloth, especially after one of his fox hunts. Despite the distance he could see a faint glow in his large green eyes —which were constantly wide open and never blinking.

A single glance was not enough to make a person realize that, in reality, Senguji’s entire body was artificial, except for his nervous system and his brain. Essentially because of this he had been able to live for more than a hundred years. Many respected him for his wisdom, others hated him for his dehumanization. The truth was that, to Makishima, Senguji was even more human than several of his peers, and he could not help but be curious about him.

Nevertheless, his ambition was boundless and he dreamed of living many more years, until he achieved immortality. As Makishima watched him, he could not stop thinking about _Dorian Gray._ A person who sought to live in the present, to remain young forever like a diamond sparkling in its full gory. The day society reaches immortality, if it ever does, will be the end of humanity and of everything that made them human —for one can only appreciate life when  knows the uncertainty of death. After all, games are always more frightening, difficult and entertaining when they have a time limit, which is why Makishima loved that game called life.

He imagined Yashiro’s youthful figure in the couch in front of him, even wondering if she would think like him on various subjects that had not yet been exposed; he felt that behind that distant gaze lay a fascinating temperament. Would Yashiro be like a chess queen, willingly hiding her true potential? Or was she just a pawn like the others? Whatever the case may be, he must plan the move which could best harness the force of her attack. That way, as they got new pieces involved in the game, they would be closer to checkmate —to the fall of the king.

Such thoughts eventually lulled him to sleep with complete pleasure, and he pictured the ruins of the Sibyl System, or a dominator on display, in a world where the human being would have transcended in such a way that he was able to govern himself, without the need to believe in anything else. He would do everything in his power to achieve this, because he would not wait for someone else to do it, he would neither pray for a hero nor trust in the afterlife or resurrection. Death was something natural that every living being had to accept. And human beings, out of desperation, just as they created cars and buildings, they also created gods. Nevertheless, he hoped that a few centuries later this would never happen again; for the sake of humanity, of nature and of life itself, they had to progress, to evolve.

The society in which they lived was plagued by people who were incapable of thinking and deciding for themselves, since they allowed a god like the Sibyl System to decide everything about their miserable lives, granting them their most desired pleasures without consideration; he could not bear to see them turned into simple pets that wagged their tails when they were fed, he could not accept that they preferred to remain prisoners like birds in the great cage that the system had created —was that the price they had to pay for their well-being?

To abandon all traces of individualism, knowing that this has always characterized human beings and has differentiated them, to a great extent, from all other living beings? How could they prosper without brilliant minds? What progress would they make if the population was represented by beings of no value, mediocre beings, who did not think about the future and lacked ideals of their own? They were only people whose personalities turned out to be projected by the system, they lived a life that was not living, they were dead in life.

Humanity was always in search of order and peace, getting its hands dirty in the process, razing everything in its path, sometimes believing that it was corrupted by society, as Rousseau thought, who claimed that his fellow men were innocent and kind and only wanted to survive, when in reality the problem had been themselves from the very beginning, due to their nature, and in that Makishima agreed with Hobbes, that man was a wolf to another man; human beings shared an equality at birth, but then they surpassed each other individually by means of intelligence and the use of reason; while Aristotle understood man as a social animal, Hobbes argued that society emerged from an artificial arrangement based on self-interest which sought security out of fear of others, so that the State or Republic emerged.

What better than to deprive each person of everything that made them human? Wasn’t it more beneficial to turn them into simple cattle instead of leaving them in their natural state? How could they reconcile lives worth living if creating meant breaking the rules, having real value was being a criminal? The Sibyl System regulated people’s behavior to make them similar, suppressing all individual morality. It could not find any difference between people who deviated from the law to create something and people who deviated to do harm —or perhaps, even sometimes there was no difference; the system only regulated, and like all systems it was imperfect.

In ancient times, for a Greek it was preferable to die than to be exiled, since the dead were still part of a family in which they were remembered and worshipped, but the exiled, being excluded from the community, also ceased to be part of humanity. Aristotle said that a man who did not need his community was a god or a beast, a being superior or inferior to man, but never a man. And for the system, Makishima was just a shadow. Since he was a child he had ceased to be human, and yet he felt more human than all those wandering faces. He had nothing, he had no one, but his ideal of freeing society from the Sibyl System. He could fail, but he was willing to make the sacrifice. Would Yashiro be, too?

The sound of the music was gratifying and calmed his thoughts, at the moment; for one way or another he was returning to the same thing, and it was the innocent and mysterious face of that teenager he hardly knew, which seemed to have much in common with him and at the same time nothing, like two opposing forces fighting in the same body. So small, so fragile… but her way of thinking and seeing the world had captivated him to a level that he could not understand. _È un fior che nasce e muore…._

“ _While you blame the Sibyl System, I blame the people.”_

Makishima did not realize that he had clenched his fist so tightly that he seemed to be on the verge of injuring his skin. Those words were insignificant to him and yet he could not stop thinking about them; people were victims, he repeated himself constantly, and the Sibyl System was the culprit behind it all, why couldn’t that girl understand? Why not destroy that imperfect system once and for all and free society at last?  _ In questo, in questo paradiso ne scopra il nuovo dì… _

“ _It’s society the one that must do it of its own free will.”_

He focused his gaze on the fire. Even though he did not usually express his emotions physically, those words transformed his appearance, triggered something inside him… he longed to have the girl in his hands to shake her and prove her wrong, to hold her neck until she finally accepted the way he intended to change society; all those people were not willing enough to decide on their lives, and they could not simply wait for them to open their eyes, because they well knew that would take time, for every year that passed, the situation in which society found itself was even worse; someone had to lead them such little lost lambs in the field, and Makishima was willing to do so.

He was aware that, if he really wanted to influence a whole mass, he needed the help of other people. And he had the feeling that they could take a lot of advantage of the girl, if he could convince her first. He was madly curious to know how far she would be willing to go, if she really had value; would she disappoint him like all the others before her? How long would it take for her to break down in such a case? Would he finally find a tool that would never wear out? 

“I sense an unusual tension in you, Shougo,” Senguji brought him back to reality.

The small flames seemed to dance together to the music, and Makishima stared at them for a long time, to concentrate on something other than the image of Yashiro. He found it surprising that in all that time he had been reflecting on that young woman, even to the point of forgetting reality. There was something about her that made her different from all others, her essence somehow subjugat ed him to a level that he could not comprehend. It had never happened to him with another person and, therefore, he did not know how to act on it.

“I found a very sharp Swiss Army knife, but its various functions can’t be used by simple persuasion.”

Before those words, the older man left his shotgun on the desk with an almost exaggerated sweetness, as well as the cloth that he had used until then to clean it, even though he was actually doing it out of a mere hunter’s obsession. His transparent gaze remained fixed on another dimension, until after a few seconds he squinted, focusing on his guest with a wise and somewhat amused smile, as he closed one of his hands to hold his chin. It was the first time he had addressed him with such boldness, but Makishima did not dislike it. 

“You mean it’s a difficult person, huh?” Senguji analyzed the words, pausing briefly to search his memory. “You mean that girl you were telling me about the other day?”

Makishima frowned subtly as if he had been insulted, denial being enough for the old man, who found it unusual to see him so unsettled about one person, as he was always too focused on his ideals, and if anyone was able to throw him off, even for a few moments, he was definitely very skilled and Senguji might even praise him. Makishima tended to be overly careful about spending his precious time with others, and he chose well who to spend time with.

“Rikako Oryo is also an interesting piece that is part of the act, but I got the feeling that Yashiro isn’t just a pawn; she’s a player like us, or will be one day.”

The last comment completely silenced him, he seemed unable to control his own words, or he had lost himself back in the deep, deafening sea of his mind, in pursuit of that person who so perplexed him. He was really ready to watch the flower grow until it finally perished, like a game whose end thrilled him utterly; he wanted to be the gunpowder in her gun, the inspiring whisper in her ears. And he wanted to be right beside her to watch her corrupt herself to the core. He really was a most unique boy, and when Senguji was with him he felt stronger, younger, unstoppable…

“About the materials you asked for, Shougo… they’re all yours,” Senguji recalled, pouring himself a glass of wine and toasting in the air towards the guest.

Makishima turned his head to him and after a few endless seconds, he broadened a grateful smile, without a word. Music reigned in the room again, intoxicating them with true delight as night fell.


	9. 8

Yashiro could easily attract the attention of others whenever she wished, and all were enlightened by the friendly aura she exuded. She was aware, however, that the vast majority were passing faces; a hello today, a goodbye forever tomorrow. They thought that because they were laughing with her, it meant they were already her closest friends. The concept of friendship had been undervalued over the years. Anyone she addressed to ask about friends, answered with confidence that had hundreds, thousands; although the truth was that in the end, in real practice they were counted on the fingers of their hands.

When you first immersed yourself in virtual reality, you found the new world so different that when you returned to your room, the only thing you longed for was to connect again in order to get rid of the stress of living in the city, with all the social responsibilities. They soon realized that the virtual world was infinite and could be modified at will, and that those who had access could enjoy a peace and freedom that they did not find in their real city. There were no faces in that reality, no physical differences, only avatars representing different ways of thinking. Therefore, anyone could have friends. Everyone got to know each other or even fall in love. They even lost track of time and took death as a fear of the past.

But the other side of the coin was not so utopian. If people wished to live in order to return to their own paradise once more, they had to feed themselves, go to work, and support themselves economically. And the moment they disconnected they looked at their faces in the mirror —the reflected lie. Because then, and only then, did they realize that freedom was much more complex. The virtual world was still a fishbowl, and a fishbowl would never cover an ocean.

“Everyone must have tasted ambrosia at some point in their lives, you can’t be an exception,” young Hisakawa commented blowing a bubble gum.

The girl sitting in front of her was staring at her with a crooked smile. They were the same age, but in her case she looked much older with shaved temples and nape, and short brown hair falling out unevenly in the form of curls. She was of medium height and in her class most of her classmates were taller than her. When Yashiro studied her, she dared to wonder what the librarian would say if she discovered her sitting that way, with her feet on one of the armrests as if she were in her own home. What struck her most was that despite being forbidden, she managed to keep a pair of gum with her at all times.

She was always surrounded by other students to joke around before going to class. Yet Yashiro saw in her eyes the fear of being left alone and having to face the greatest of the invisible giants —silence. She had also heard rumors that she bullied other students by always being in a group; which revealed her incredible lack of self-esteem and emotional fragility. Despite her outgoing nature, she seemed to cower in her presence as if her offensive personality was, in fact, as sensitive as glass.

She had held several conversations with her thus discovering that as well as Rikako Oryo, she repudiated the Sibyl System, in her case since the death of her brother; yet another victim of the psycho hazard. It was like daily rice and reminded Yashiro of her mother. Rikako was drawn to the fact that a teenager could harbor so much hate, one which was directed at the Sibyl System and all those who longed to work in the Public Safety Bureau. Yashiro, on the other hand, saw only an uncontrolled childish tantrum as a desire for revenge.

“I’m not against virtual reality, because it would be like denying technological progress, something fully absurd and pointless,” Yashiro’s tone was melodious, she was lost on one of the library shelves behind the girl and she blurted out the words with total sincerity. “I just think people should stop lying to themselves and accept their reality, no matter how hard it is.”

She had bothered her for a brief second, but it was enough. Virtual reality addicts hated being grabbed by the tail, and even more so when it came to criticizing their glorious, perfect ambrosia. She was enjoying her expression of indignation more than she should have, and she refrained from smiling.

“It’s not that easy,” Izumi snapped, with a serious air that was not like her. “For some that’s their only reality, because they know if they leave all they’ll find is death.”

Yashiro tilted her head to either side testing the waters, as if she were hearing a familiar song again, and she half-opened her eyes with a gleam of unintelligible enthusiasm.

“Each and every one of us could die, if the crime coefficient indicates so. That’s the price we have to pay for welfare and social security. But what kind of progress can there be in there? What kind of progress can exist in a society whose inhabitants hide in a world that functions like George Orwell’s Minutes of Hate?” She waved her hand pointing to an invisible virtual reality. “Everyone can criticize the Sibyl System in it, everyone can behave in the dirtiest hue. But the moment they return to their authentic lives the recess is over, the illusion of freedom fades away.”

“I see you’re not a big fan of anarchist CommuFields,” sensed young Hisakawa.

Yashiro furrowed her brow as her companion reclined in the seat, eyes open like two large buttons.

“I once talked to an avatar who considers herself an openly feminist, but adheres to Proudhon’s thinking. When I told her that he was a detractor of feminism itself, she blocked me and never spoke to me again. I got the feeling that it was someone our age or younger,” she replied, resting her head on her fist. “Nowadays, looking revolutionary is in fashion. It attracts followers and makes you feel special, superior to others.”

For a long time they remained silent, the first one immersed in a strange melancholy while the other one did not stop watching her and chewing gum slowly, as if time went by much slower for her.

“It’s not often these days that professors teach reality as it is,” Izumi thought aloud, clearing her throat to continue. “Don’t you think we’re in a comfortable and silent bubble, idealizing a world that doesn’t exist? The ideological clash we’ll have on our way out, will be so great that many will see how easily a hue can become cloudy...”

Yashiro opened her eyes gently and gave her a brief knowing smile.

“In these times, even truth can be used as a weapon. The constant fear of psycho hazard is like terrorism or Cold War in the past,” Yashiro corroborated with a nod. “As Foucault would say; _‘wherever there is power, power is exercised. We don’t know who exactly has it, but we know who doesn’t’_.”

The country was at war, but a silent and invisible war, like cancer circulating in its carrier without the latter being aware of it. Society, in its eagerness to protect the mental health of each of its members, was bleeding under the pressure of internal strife. It would not surprise her if, despite technology and advanced medicine, life expectancy was in a severe recession. But that information would undoubtedly never be made public in the media —with the exception of conspiracy forums or CommuFields.

“Anyway, they could… break the fall to reality,” Izumi insisted in a sullen tone, but with a hint of hope in her eyes.

“The Ousou Academy, as you know, is conservative,” Yashiro pointed out, raising one hand as a gesture while the other rested on the chair. “To maintain order and reputation, it’s in charge of keeping us away from any social influence that is threatening, to prevent the psycho pass from shooting up—”

“All it does is ignore the problems.”

Yashiro merely shrugged her shoulders, she would not argue about the internal procedures of the academy. Although she disagreed, sometimes every system lied or hid the truth for the sake of a group of people. The Ousou Academy would isolate a murder case in order to protect the students, a company would fire an employee whose psycho pass was conflicting so as not to compromise that of others, the Sibyl System… the Sibyl System?

“The problem’s that some people would rather live a sweet lie than a painful truth,” Yashiro declared staring at her, directing the words completely at her, on purpose, curious as to whether she would be angry or sorry to be herself, to the point of disgust; she could hear the fine crystal of her personality breaking little by little, like a mask, she wondered what was underneath. “And there’s nothing worse than lying to yourself…”

Izumi stood there quietly for a long time, analyzing the meaning of her words. Her bubble ended up exploding over her mouth and she remained impassive for several seconds. Yashiro knew that she had touched her in the most sensitive part of her consciousness, just enough to warm up her nearly rusty engines. She could glimpse the hatred in her eyes reborn like a burning sun, and it had not been too difficult to take her to such ends. The crystals shattered into a thousand pieces, creating someone entirely different.

“There’s nothing worse than lying to yourself,” she repeated what she had said a minute before, frowning as if she were thinking of many things at once. “You’re right. I think… I think I’ve been lying to myself in every possible way for a long time. I’ve always hated the Sibyl System since what it did to my brother, but the only way I could find to remove that pain was to resort to virtual reality, sharing my ideas with many other people who had gone through the same. I may never be like you in the end. I’m terrified of this reality, I admit. You move on the surface while I try to do it in the virtual. You may underestimate it, but I tell you, there are many people willing to do things you can’t even imagine. People who not only hide, but wait for the right moment,” she looked down at the palm of her hands and then returned to the elder. “What kind of person are you, Yashiro? The one who plans, or the one who waits?

Yashiro made no effort to conceal her surprise and lifted her face a few inches, as if cold air had suddenly seeped through the windows of the library and into her neck. The young Hisakawa had an icy, dreamy countenance, which made her at least four years older.

“That shouldn’t worry you,” Yashiro replied deftly. “You’re here because you had doubts about your person, so answer yourself, what kind of person are you?”

The girl stood motionless with a firm smile on her lips. She looked different, more determined. She seemed to keep going over the same question like a complex maze in her head. Finally, she rose from the armchair after a deep sigh, stretching, lifting a great weight off her shoulders. Yashiro watched her curiously from head to toe in search of the young woman she had known thus far. She had the feeling that she had ceased to exist.

“I’ll keep your words in mind,” she stated with a serious honesty, before greeting her on her way to class. “For some reason, when I talk to you I feel like I can solve all my problems…”

And without further ado, she left the library, not without first giving Yashiro one last grateful smile. She, instead, sat on the armchair reminiscing again about the conversation they had held. Some people needed a little push in order to grow up and she felt that what she had done with her was right, she felt calm now that she knew that one more girl would be looking for answers on her own. She was still engrossed in her personal satisfaction when a slow, gentle applause surprised her.

“ _’By holding out baits, he keeps him on the march; then with a body of picked men he lies in wait for him’_ ,” she heard a voice behind her back.

Yashiro did not flinch at the sudden presence, she simply closed her eyes for a few seconds to contain herself. She had not expected anyone at the academy to be watching her, especially one as conservative as that. The footsteps echoed through the room and she knew who it was even when her back was turned. If she had never seen him she would have turned around to look at his modest, ordinary appearance, even though she knew there was nothing ordinary about him.

Yashiro followed him with her eyes as he sat on the armchair in front of her, right where Izumi Hisakawa had been minutes before. They were the only ones in the entire library, silence seemed to correspond to them. Yashiro saw that he was carrying a book in his hands and when he realized that she was concentrating on the cover, he put his arm on the armchair and lifted the small volume up to his face to capture her attention.

“Sun Tzu,” professor Shibata pointed out.

Yashiro observed him carefully, marveling once again at his very particular tastes. His lips curled in a satisfied smirk as he noted her uncertainty, and he analyzed her with his eyes slightly narrowed.

“Shall I take it as an accusation, or as a compliment?” She inquired.

The man looked down for a split second, then returned to the expectant silver eyes that sought to corner him. Yashiro noticed a silent complicity in his gaze, though she knew she had not succeeded in intimidating him. Gradually she began to grow accustomed to his patience and unwavering calm, and she smiled, smiled with a sincerity that even confused herself, for she had forgotten the way her eyes narrowed over such an expression automatically, something that she was unable to avoid at the time.

Her thoughts flowed freely, she felt like an open book in his presence. It was something that had not happened to her with anyone else. He seemed to be someone with whom she could express her innermost secrets and though they were still two strangers, Yashiro felt as if she had known him in the past. It was a strange, dreamy feeling. What was eating her head, was whether he could sense the same. When she tried to define his intentions or thoughts, however, she realized how irrefutably distant they were from each other, because despite being so similar in different aspects as ways of thinking or seeing the world, they were magnets that attracted but never touched each other.

A virtuous and angelic figure in a young body that still produced in her an extravagant feeling, as if she were leaving something behind. She did not know how, but she felt more lost than a satellite in the middle of a starry space, and in some way, that man possessed a superior force similar to gravity which connected her, as if it were not by chance that they met again in the same place for a second time.


	10. 9

"These new toys make this facility not so lonely," the young Oryo argued as she walked back and forth, running her index finger over the surgical table in the center of the room.

Makishima Shougo followed her with his eyes from the darkness, wondering when she would stop her incessant, unpleasant gait. She always used to be calm, but when she let her emotions get the better of her, her unpolluted barrier of absolute coldness and reflection would break down to give way to a corrosive and childish mentality. At such times, he found himself watching a woman whose mental age resembled that of a child.

If he took the materials away from her, she would get as angry as a child who is scolded by his parents and she would throw all kinds of tantrums. If he placed her in a borderline situation where her life was in danger, the fear would probably be so strong that it would cloud her mind, blurring all her hatred in one breath. And that behavior only reminded him of the limits she possessed as a tool and an individual.

Rikako Oryo was a young woman who could simply be turned on by the weakest of blowers. She was a flame that burned as the very sun even in the deepest, darkest places. She was capable of going to hell and back to earth to spread the worst of the torments, but she was only that; a spark which could wipe out an entire forest until it consumed itself, as soon as the fire began.

Her hatred was an exceptionally sharp knife, whose glowing blade hurt both others and its own bearer. And to top it all off, in her fatal arrogance, she had the audacity to believe that the circumstances were a product of her introspection. Ironically, she enjoyed bending the will of others when she, in turn, could be easily manipulated. Makishima frowned for a split second as he watched her, feeling a current of pleasure lull his senses.

Then, as it was becoming usual and inevitable for him, he wondered what Yashiro would say in those moments. He came to imagine her standing in the room, contemplating the different materials with curiosity, until she noticed the fragile presence of Miss Oryo and quoted Zarathustra, perhaps, when he said: _'those you cannot teach to fly, teach to fall faster'_. And he was excited, both to see her spread her wings and to greet her as she melted into the darkness, falling so fast that it was even impossible to distinguish her. He had the feeling, and hoped, that young Oryo would put on quite a show for him. He longed for Yashiro to be there to enjoy it as well.

"Now only the protagonist of the play is missing," Makishima echoed behind the spotlight that illuminated the scene.

The young Oryo took a scalpel placed on top of a metal side table, in order to contemplate the reflection on its blade and caress it in the process, with a sweetness he understood. She had the look of a child on her birthday after receiving the gifts, and he truly hoped that in the near future she would use them to create works of her own.

"Professor Toma is interested in a man called Ryoji Hashida," she informed, turning the blade in the air.

Makishima had previously conducted his own research, so the commentary did not capture his attention. He was a politician suspected of corruption and falsifying crime rate reports. Despite the criticism and opposition, it was very likely that he would continue to outwit the system, after all, money was an advantageous resource that he had the luxury of giving himself, as was the case with Mr. Senguji.

Professor Toma had some rather unique tastes, and he wondered what his intentions were with that man. He could not help but feel the emotion coursing through his veins as he envisioned the panic reaction of the audience, the impact it would have on society. The foundations of the Sibyl System would tremble with shame and accusation. What would Miss Takahashi's reaction be? Fear, hatred, indignation... hope?

"I see you have not told anything to your partner," he brought Yashiro into the conversation, just as he had planned.

He knew they were very close, but he did not think it was appropriate to call them friends. Whereas Rikako was always accompanied by other students, Yashiro rigorously chose who to have at her side. The former believed she had many friends, the latter accepted solitude. They were excellent partners and would never hesitate to support one another, but he did not feel they were friends. A part of him wanted to keep it that way. Yashiro comprehended friendship in a more complex way.

When he returned to focus on the minor, the way her eyes blinked with a brief but intense hesitation did not go unnoticed by someone like him, who enjoyed studying her behavior so much. Rikako continued to examine all the equipment she had been given, even if she was not looking for something specific, she was only rejoicing over and over again in the pleasure those materials gave her.

"I prefer it to be a surprise," she replied without giving the matter much thought.

Makishima could sense, in a way, an apparent unease whenever he mentioned her. She seemed to be afraid, deep down, or perhaps worried. He narrowed his eyes without ceasing to examine her, and felt the presence of young Takahashi as if she were standing right there. The guilt twisted her mind, though only in an almost imperceptible way, as time passed. Rikako was still too young and so she was driven by what others thought of her. In that case, Yashiro. She must have been someone very important in her life, although she would probably never admit it. Her pride would not allow it.

"How do you think she would take it?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Rikako's lips remained half open and slightly trembling, as if it had never crossed her mind and acted as a thorn in her conscience, firm and unyielding. There was a strange glow in her eyes that captured his attention, as grim as the night itself.

"It wouldn't be the first time she saw cruelty in front of her eyes."

The young Oryo stopped for a few moments, reflecting on the edge of her own words. Makishima took a couple of steps forwards, leaving the darkness behind to reveal himself to her. That was what he was so eagerly seeking, what he hoped to receive from the young woman. He held her in his hands now, and was ready to squeeze her dry. He lifted his head a few inches, tilting it to the side as he tested the waters.

"I must assume you know much about her," he stated with a distant look.

There were seconds of utter doubt, as if one part of Rikako remained fully loyal to the other student, and refused to reveal more about her life. She was a great influence on her and he would have to work harder at that relationship. The ice seemed to break at last, however, and her entire thin body relaxed, as if a large weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Ever since I first laid eyes on her reading in a hallway instead of being in literature class, I knew that somehow she was different from the others."

Makishima let out an incredulous smile as he pictured the scene. It was definitely Yashiro. No one else would escape from a boring literature class to read, besides him and perhaps, Rikako herself.

"I witnessed how she simply transforms a student. It is not the first time she has done it, am I wrong?" Makishima declared, walking around while looking at her inquisitively.

The young Oryo closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, inflating her entire chest, like someone who is discovered and no longer looks for an exit to hide in the shadows.

"No, it's not. She always acted that way, conscious or not of the power of her words," Rikako went on, who suddenly paused to cast a glance at him, considering whether she should continue or not. "In fact, her words can either illuminate or obscure the psycho pass of others, like a mirror."

Makishima arched one eyebrow and stopped his graceful walk, as if a huge cliff were opening up in front of him. The girl's words floated into the air, like a dark, piercing echo that twisted the minds of all who dared to listen.

"A mirror?" He just blurted out, stunned.

He no longer cared at all about pretending to be uninterested, he longed, wanted to know more about it. He sensed that Yashiro was a chest full of unsolved mysteries, and he would do everything in his power to obtain the key. Rikako's eyes twinkled as if she had suddenly remembered something. Despite that he had always considered himself a patient person, the wait was endless.

"Yes, but that's not the weirdest thing," the minor began to explain, lost at a fixed point on the stretcher while Makishima stared at her closely, immersed in a strange complacency. "An ordinary person would break in the first few days. To observe a person's darkness without being affected is practically impossible. Yashiro, on the other hand... keeps her hue in perfect condition."

There was a deafening silence. Makishima stroked his chin in complete abstraction, trying to give meaning to the words. His entire body remained immovable as if his will had suddenly been extinguished. He could hear the slow beating of his heart, expectant murmurs in the face of a truth that had not been revealed, but which he was eager to discover from the depths of his being. A part of him believed that the level of insensitivity that Yashiro had was probably so advanced, that she avoided being affected. Yet he could not believe it, he refused to.

"Even after what happened," Rikako added in a cool tone, considerably catching his attention. "According to the little information I found, there was a night when her father tried to kill both his wife and herself. The mother murdered him with twelve stab wounds, however," she paused to exchange an in-depth look with him, making it clear that the amount was, from her perspective, a visible revelation of the hatred in that relationship. "As a result, her mother's psycho pass became so cloudy that therapy was no longer in her reach. Back then, Yashiro was fifteen years old."

Makishima had researched Yashiro's past after meeting her at the library. He even remembered the hours he had spent immersed in the network searching for her, though that was not something he was passionate about. From the first moment he knew that she was hiding something, or that her mind was trying with great insight to avoid the inevitable. He had even asked indirect questions about Yashiro's past and her current lifestyle to other teachers and students. She was known to virtually the entire academy, and yet none had crossed the bridge, either because they did not dare or because they had not really been able to.

"Not only did she see her father die at the hands of her mother, but she also witnessed her mother's death in Sibyl's vigilant arms."

Makishima's eyes shone with satisfaction and he smiled fully, drawing the situation in his mind with extreme detail. At such a young age she had witnessed death in her own flesh. She had lived through hell, and somehow managed to escape its burning flames, using that fire, that suffering, to be herself. Yashiro was the spark herself and spread the flames according to her needs, without ever consuming herself. A blast of complacency ruffled his skin.

"And yet," Miss Rikako brought him back to reality, squinting with a somber glow in her eyes. "I suspect Yashiro played a role during the conflict, one that... Sibyl could not judge."

Makishima shadowed his face instantly, reflecting on the chasm those words contained. He wished to look, but was not sure what he would find. Nor did he wish to draw any deliberate conclusions. From the beginning, it was both rewarding and strange to feel watched by Yashiro in the courtyard of the academy. At that moment, he had the feeling that she had something different from the other students. His senses never failed and he was able to confirm this later, when he met her, or rather, when he met a simple part of her. Her disguise was so well developed that he could barely see her real face.

And it was that same uncertainty that filled his lungs with indescribable enthusiasm. He wanted to know more about her, and he wanted to teach her about him, too. For the first time in his life someone had challenged his words, made him doubt, rethought his ideas, when in fact no one else had been able to before. Yashiro was one woman among many, a student like so many others at the academy, but she was entirely different and perhaps did not even know it. He had the feeling that she was like him and he was eager to show her the way.


	11. 10

Literature classes were often boring for Yashiro. Seeing her teacher standing in front of the blackboard, reading a paragraph or the activity they were supposed to do with the same tone sick of life and that tired look, made her completely sleepy, as well as her classmates, who ended up disowning literature in general every year that passed. However, that day was different, since for the first time the teacher allowed them to engage in an outdoor activity, in the courtyard of the academy. Even though almost all the students carried a digital tablet, Yashiro was one of the few who still kept a physical notebook to write with.

While some of her classmates completed the activity on the spot believing that the older one was not aware of it, others decided to show first what they had done over the weekend. The teacher listened attentively from her place to the different topics chosen, whose only condition was that they had to be related to modernity. She always had a serious expression that dissolved all possible emotion, making it difficult to know what she was thinking. Only when they finished reading what they had written did they receive the corresponding qualification or, hopefully, some critical commentary from the elder. Yashiro wondered if that formality was her disguise or, on the contrary, her true face.

She stopped listening to what they were saying, she no longer knew whether they were reading poems, essays or short stories. On the screen of her tablet a notification caught her eye, and she decided to display it when she saw the name of the sender. Rikako, who was also in class, had somehow sensed her boredom and asked her what they were doing, whether she was participating in the class or simply reading something else. Yashiro did not usually use that messenger system, but she fumbled with one of her fingers on the glass a couple of times until she chose to reply. And in a short time, she forgot about the surrounding environment to imagine, in turn, Rikako’s bored face on the other side. When her literature teacher approached, she only noticed her presence when she could make out the shadow in front of her.

“Yashiro, you’re the only one left. Why don’t you come forward and enlighten us with something that hasn’t been said?” The teacher asked, arranging her glasses.

Yashiro was completely startled, and looked to find the dark brown eyes of the woman intercepting her coldly. For several endless seconds she sat motionless in one of the courtyard seats, with Rikako’s open chat in her hands and the notebook containing the full activity below. As she got up, she turned off the screen leaving it on the stone surface, and moved forward with her physical notebook followed by the rigid gaze of the elder, who placed herself in front of the other students, about three feet away.

Yashiro opened her notebook, but just then the teacher shook her head and raised her chin, directing her to stand on the seat of the holographic fountain so that she could be seen better. The young woman gave her a look of utter dismay before giving in, wondering if she would have been angry that she had been doing something else all through the class. If she wanted to make her uncomfortable so that she would regret having chatted with Rikako, she had to make a greater effort.

Yashiro’s eyes burst open as she turned the page more and more intently, looking for the work she thought she had done. She finally let out a deep sigh and when she closed it again, the glances fell on her with softness and enthusiasm, some even accompanied by smiles. She breathed before continuing and put her hair back in front of her, though she was actually improvising. The teacher knew it and enjoyed testing her constantly. Yashiro was tired of it, but not because she had to make such an effort, but rather because she was no longer interested in doing so, much less within the academy.

“I decided to call the topic I chose ‘love in modernity’,” she began to say, pausing to further clarify her voice and take a quick look at her classmates, who respected her space and listened very carefully. “More than one will feel identified, others will surely hate me in silence…”

Yashiro lost her speech for a few moments when, a couple of feet behind her classmates, she discovered the figure of Professor Shibata watching her closely, formally dressed as she had seen him several times before. No one had been aware of his presence save herself, and he seemed to ask her with his eyes to continue. He was a person willing to listen to her of his own free will, not merely because it was an educational activity, or because one had to be in solidarity with the person speaking.

He was standing right there when he could read in the coffee shop, quiet and alone. Yashiro smiled furtively, gesturing her hands again as she spoke to give more focus. Though her voice was soft, the tone she used managed to convey the eagerness that ate away at her entire body; she was curious to know what the reaction of her teacher, her classmates, and Professor Shibata would be.

“We live in a time where love is like water that flows, flows without ever being transformed… people force themselves to feel happiness and trust with others to protect their mental health, ignoring the dangers that lie ahead,” she stopped briefly, exchanging a glance with the attentive amber eyes. “Love was always conceived as an energizer that motivates the individual to live, to face the worst enemies and death itself. However, in a state where each of its inhabitants gives his will in exchange for welfare and social security, there is no love other than that which is directed towards the benefactor. To this we should add the fact that today there are so many people on the net, that meeting or dating someone is a matter of entering a profile and sending a message,” that comment caused some laughter among her classmates, but the teacher was standing idly by and for the first time saw her slowly nodding in her direction, as if sharing the point of view. “People become disposable, interchangeable profiles. Why stay with one when there are many others? Why spend so many years with just one when I can get to know someone better?”

Only then, did her classmates seem to realize where she had been heading from the beginning, since their faces became serious and none of them dared to laugh or even counteract her words. The only one who seemed to agree was —to her amazement— the teacher. Having been born in a different era, she affirmed with her then understanding eyes that things had changed a lot since she was young, essentially human relations.

“The eternal pleasure,” Professor Shibata introduced himself with his hands in his trouser pockets.

He had captured the attention of everyone present, including Yashiro. Those who were closest to him suddenly turned around, as if he were a ghost. Even the literature teacher herself was stunned by the interruption, but when she opened her mouth as if to object something against him, Yashiro’s voice broke through like a great hurricane; if she had had to restrain her impulses until then so as not to be so blunt, by now she had lost the ability to control herself.

“And the eternal boredom,” Yashiro complemented without looking away.

The frenzy she felt in those moments to keep talking, was so great that for a few seconds Yashiro even forgot where she was standing. She caught a glimpse of a fleeting wry smile on Shibata’s face, who seemed to predict her thoughts and comprehend them as his own.

“So that… love, as well as friendship, were degraded over time,” the young man confirmed, raising his head a few inches.

Glances passed from her to Professor Shibata and so on, as they replied to each other, separated from reality, as if they were in an impenetrable tunnel.

“And if we bear in mind all those people willing to find the way to immortality… future gets even darker,” Yashiro answered in a pejorative tone unknown to her classmates, after pointing his hand at an invisible audience. She stood slightly bent over, looking at him with indescribable depth, until she narrowed her eyes and chose to go on, full of both irony and indignation. “ _’We are less bored than our ancestors were, but we are more afraid of boredom’_.”

Professor Shibata’s eyes dilated as if memories were flooding into his mind, and Yashiro watched, from her position, the authentic smile that slowly formed on his lips, flashing his white teeth in a sneaky manner, until he let out a short, gentle laugh, almost as if he had not laughed in years and was savoring that feeling from the depths of his being, an expression as sincere as sardonic.

“And as Russell also claimed: _‘a generation that cannot endure boredom will be a generation of little men, of men unduly divorced from the slow processes of nature, of men in whom every vital impulse slowly withers, as though they were cut flowers in a vase’._ ”

Silence again came between the two of them for a whole minute, during which each remained absorbed in the other, forgetting everything that could be found around. The teacher was about to say something, but she was interrupted by the murmurs of various students who had finished their respective classes and were flooding the academy courtyard, sitting on benches or standing under trees, to talk in the shade. Then, the older one addressed Professor Shibata in a threatening manner, or so she wished to appear, even though her efforts were in vain in the face of the taller and more ruthless figure.

“Shouldn’t you be teaching, Professor…?” The woman questioned, stopping three feet away.

The hesitant manner in which she addressed the young man, squinting and arranging her glasses in the process, was a clear indication that she did not know him. However, the latter did not seem to care about her presence or even about the glaring look she held while studying him, as if she were trying to dominate him with all her might.

“My class is over,” he replied dryly, without a hint of emotion in his voice.

Only then did he turn his peaceful gaze away from Yashiro to focus on her, his face slightly tilted, as if to denote superiority and to provoke her. Yashiro wondered how far he was willing to go with that interruption, and was curious to know what would happen next. She wanted, needed to see her teacher’s reaction. Therefore, like her classmates, she stood by.

Tension seemed to be increasing, both teachers were in an unstoppable and invisible competition of looks, being noticed by the group of students around them. Yashiro knew the woman well enough as to realize that she was indeed angry, for she did not like having her class broken into without asking permission, especially if the blame lay with another teacher like herself, who had to set an example for her students by respecting others.

“Professor Shibata helped me with my research, recommending books,” Yashiro raised her voice, jumping out of her seat and catching the eye of all present. “I’m not surprised he’s interested in how my work ends.”

The teacher examined her every move, reflecting on the very natural and jovial words that had come out of the student’s mouth. Although she was observing her in the inquisitive manner she used to do with everyone, Yashiro was completely relaxed, with an upright body and a firm, confident, if not exaggerated expression. She could sense the professor inspecting her from a distance, wondering if the literature’s one would believe the lie or hesitate instead. After a few seconds in complete silence she managed once and for all to make her fall for her charms, and the older one let out a deep sight, thus breaking up the aggressive atmosphere.

“I expect a report from each of you for next class,” she concluded, softening her icy gaze for a split second until she centered it on Yashiro for the last time. “You always do things on the spur of the moment. But a fundamental part of life is learning to improvise.”

Yashiro smiled half-heartedly, realizing then that the teacher’s lessons could be almost as masterful as Toma’s. The only difference between the two was age. Her teacher’s eyes denoted an exhaustion that went beyond physical fitness. She seemed to have lost every ounce of hope, of compassion for the students. The darkness of her countenance was a vivid reflection not only of the way time had passed for her, but for the entire society.

Shibata devoted a long, complicit gaze to her from his place, smiling in a way that only she could perceive. And just then, did she realize that all along he knew that she would come forward to defend him at some point, he had merely waited long enough to see it with his own eyes, which seemed, in those moments, to shine like two enormous suns. He was testing her, and that completely baffled her.

After the class was finally over, the teacher left to go into the academy and her classmates scattered around the large courtyard, not without first letting out huffs and puffs of dismay at the assignment they had to give. Some approached to get to know the young man, enraptured by his appearance. That is how she came to overhear that he was an art teacher, Rikako probably had him in one of her classes. However, Yashiro limited herself to keeping her belongings in her messenger bag, engrossed in the conversation she had held only minutes before, until a few steps behind her caught her attention and a figure cast a shadow on her back. Yashiro hung up her bag, pausing for a brief moment to imagine the presence in her mind, repeating his voice like echoes lost from afar.

“Yashiro Takahashi, aren’t you?” He said, with an unwavering softness that made her turn around in surprise. He was three feet away, unmindful of the fact that other students were sneaking a peek at them. “I see. Well then, Yashiro, would you like to have a cup of tea?"

Yashiro extended the silence by observing him with a genuine and growing curiosity. Every time she connected with his eyes a strange feeling took over her entire body, as if that abyss in his gaze had to be discovered. She felt that behind that professor’s disguise a very different person was hiding. It had never happened to her before and that feeling was crowding her mind, giving no room for anything else. It seemed that all around her was starting to fall apart, except for themselves.

“I appreciate it,” she answered at last, receiving a smile of delight.


	12. 11

“Two Earl Grey teas and some madeleines, please,” Shibata asked as they sat at one of the tables farthest from the audience, where it was absolutely quiet.

Yashiro remained silent studying his refined manners, until minutes later a girl approached them politely, bringing them what they had asked for. No sooner had she stepped away again than the man picked up a madeleine with a peculiar sweetness, then dipped it in the tea in front of him while Yashiro watched the scene intently, like if it were his private ritual. In all that time he did not say a single word, although she had the feeling of being under full watch. Yet she was so immersed in how the madeleine was becoming soggy, that she kept thinking at some point it would break and fall into the cup, splashing tea on the table.

“I love drinking tea and dipping madeleines in it,” he said in response to her thoughts, as he put one of them in his mouth.

Yashiro was standing still, following each of his movements with bewilderment. Anyone else would have been uncomfortable by the weight of her gaze, but that was not the case with the man. She could not believe that he was using such an ordinary tone with her, when minutes earlier he seemed to have wanted to crush her literature teacher, merely because she was in his way. Again she focused on the next madeleine he picked up, to dip it in the cup. A grimace of disgust rolled off her lips, causing the man to stop halfway, without dipping it. It was then that she intercepted his eyes, as if he had finally noticed her presence.

“If you keep dipping them, the tea will lose its aroma,” Yashiro warned him.

For a few eternal seconds they watched each other as two travelling companions, who, after dividing their journeys, met again to tell each other any and all of their experiences. Yashiro felt that he was someone who knew how to listen to both the sweet words and the revealing whispers of silence. A playful yet defiant smile lit up his fine face for one fleeting, short second. Rather than listening to her, he simply dipped the madeleine into the liquid, never ceasing to look deeply at her, as if trying to appreciate every detail of her skin. Yashiro frowned, but did not allow herself to become entangled in the clear provocation.

“Perhaps, but its essence will remain intact,” he objected, absorbed in an endless number of questions and answers. “Do you believe the essence of your classmates will also remain intact? Or will it succumb to your words, as it did with Ms. Hisakawa?” 

A shiver of pure pleasure ran down Yashiro’s spine, as she let out a brief smile and lowered her gaze to take a sip from her tea cup, allowing herself to be intoxicated by the sweet aroma it emitted.

“It is true that words have a great influence on the way we think, after all, we are the product of circumstances; however, I agree with Sartre that man is condemned because he did not give himself existence, but he is free because he is solely responsible for what he does,” she pondered aloud, losing her gaze in different directions.

The professor left the cup of tea on the table and stared at her before answering, as if he were actually searching for a meaning to her words.

_“We limit ourselves to a reliance upon that which is within our wills, or within the sum of the probabilities which render our action feasible,”_ he quoted Sartre, bowing his head slightly in silent approval.

Yashiro looked back at him and smiled, slowly squinting, like dawn on winter days that are only perceived by those who enjoy contemplating what is beyond their reach. She had the feeling that this man shared much more with her than she could or dared to admit, never before in her life had she been so curious about what was going on in the mind of another individual. How could he, a mere stranger, be so close? Who was he under his disguise?

“Yet, we are in a society where the potential capacities of each individual are chosen in a standardized way, suppressing the possibility of error through condemnation… to fail once in Sibyl’s eyes is to have failed as a human, and therefore, it is no longer possible to be part of society…”

Yashiro plunged back into the cold waters of her mind, and her attentive companion joined the current flowing alongside her, such a log lost in the middle of a river trying to keep her afloat. A log that could save her, and at the same time, sink her into the depths of uncertainty as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Whenever a topic related to the system in place in his country arose, the appearance of the professor took a huge and visible turn. His face was darkened like a beautiful flower withering, the glow in his amber eyes went on to burn anyone who dared to look at them.

“And when error is no longer allowed, the human being is stuck, with no possibility of evolving. If the Sibyl System is terrifying, it is because it nullifies all possible human evolution. The perfect dictatorship, since it freezes all possibility of the passage of time. People don’t have to worry about anything, just let themselves be lulled to sleep by the sweet whispering where work, art and thought remain immovable forever, in a stagnant water in which all the following generations will think the same as the first…”

Yashiro could not help but think of the exuberant amount of talents that were lost, the research or inventions that were suppressed as unchangeable sacrifice to find order and peace. She understood then the meaning that all utopia required great sacrifice, but she could not, and would not accept, that the sacrifice to achieve it was to abandon everything that made them human. She simply did not wish to live all her life in such a world.

It was only people like the professor in front of her, who made that world a place where she would be willing to live. Being understood in a world that lacked all meaning, was somehow comforting to her. Yashiro finished her tea and nodded gently, staring at the surface; the distant murmurs from the other tables had long since ceased to be of any importance to them, they were just listening to one another. She found it hard to believe the direction in which her thoughts had gone, as if of their own free will.

“The problem… is that a system that doesn’t evolve, in the long run is as fragile as glass,” Yashiro exposed, with a slightly cold tone. “The Sibyl System will collapse… but only when it becomes unsustainable, when it contradicts itself.”

Professor Shibata opened his eyes wider as he ate a madeleine with the usual calm that represented him, and again he glanced at her speechlessly for a long minute. He seemed to be analyzing every word, every feeling found in hearing them. He was astonished in a way that he did not mind hiding, or at least not in her presence.

“How do you believe it can be achieved?” He asked at last, overflowing with an impressive, human curiosity.

Yashiro was moved by the fact that his voice sounded as if he really wanted to hear her opinion, as if he needed advice. It was something he would not do with others. The effort he must have made in order to break a part of his disguise and show himself more to her, was exuberant.

“I’ve always asked myself the same question. I believe that, like any system, it’s susceptible to change from within.”

The professor grinned softly and victoriously, shaking his head. He had caught her in his question and was enjoying it inwardly.

“Inside everything is structured, perfect,” Shibata declared extending his hands on either side of the cup. “Outside is where chaos is found, it is where individuals who are willing to destroy it can be born.”

Yashiro was in complete agreement, but she was conscious that they were talking about structural changes and reforms that could take years, decades, or even centuries; the human mind was far too complex, even for something as rational as the Sibyl System. To convince society that there were alternatives, that the system had to change (and disappear, in the even more distant future) would be an almost endless war, which would pass in the slow passage of time. The revolution would be subtle and imperceptible, which they could only witness once Sibyl’s foundation had collapsed on its own, haunted by the voices and cries of its own citizens, those it so vowed to protect.

“Careful, professor,” Yashiro warned with a mischievous grimace and a somber tone, leaning her body forward a few inches, while resting both arms on the table and clasping her hands together, as if about to reveal a secret. “With that tongue, one day the entire Public Safety Bureau will fall upon you.”

Before those bold words the young man curled his lips gently, until he flashed a sly grin that was incomprehensible to her; the mere mention of the organization that was dedicated to fighting crime in society amused him, or rather, enthused him to a degree she did not fully grasp. His eyes were dilated shining like gold and honey, constantly fixed on the person in front of him. He was not just any person to be found, for his mind was intriguing even though his face or expressions did not reveal what he was thinking, besides which his disguise as a professor was used very often and chose well who to approach.

“I could say the same about you,” he replied slowly in an almost hoarse voice, narrowing his eyes. “Although in your case, it already has…”

Yashiro’s mischief faded after a few seconds, following an unconscious sigh in complete irony. Deep inside, she could feel the fire longing to escape, rising to the heavens, burning her into a scarlet landscape that blended with every observer. For some strange reason, when she found herself in the presence of Professor Shibata, the sea that usually drowned her became calm at the sound of his voice, and she was able to rise to the surface. She wanted to speak, but only silence came out of her throat, and a sense of isolation tore at her lungs as if she were gradually running out of air.

Yashiro half-closed her eyes staring at a fixed point far above the professor, as if looking at the sky through a window. Her body was utterly stiff due to his words, even though the stupefaction she felt was the greatest she had ever experienced in her life. If the sea of her mind had remained calm until then, at the time it seemed to be washed away by the violent waves, but there was no one to offer her a hand; Professor Shibata seemed to wish to contemplate both her sinking, and her coming out of the waters of her own free will.

The amber eyes kept studying her with that subtlety that so characterized them, but at that moment she realized that they expressed something else, since they sparkled in pursuit of success, they held a hidden truth that was waiting to be discovered. He was not a friend, he was not a companion; he acted as a mere observer. Yashiro found herself strangely absorbed as if the world were passing before her eyes, analyzing her, waiting for her response. He knew far more than she would have expected and he displayed it in his gaze. Yet, he seemed to ask permission to continue and Yashiro finally focused her attention on him, moved by such courtesy.

“It is the ghost of your parents that is haunting you, isn’t it?” The man asked, bluntly as if he had been waiting for that moment all his life. “You can see their faces in your dreams, and guilt twists you.”

Yashiro frowned, blinking for a moment. She could not help but look away when the very familiar female face stood in front of the young man’s, like a faint distortion of reality. He noticed it and then stretched backwards, bowing his head slightly in her direction. For a long minute neither of them spoke. Yashiro’s face was a gray and almost transparent stain in the midst of the darkness that was trying to take over her. Her mind was a cold, wet jungle that entangled her, and everywhere she looked, the past was swirling around like raindrops on her forehead. The curiosity her companion must have had for her was far greater than she had expected, and she wondered how deep he had dug.

“Only my mother’s,” Yashiro emphasized solemnly, who with some disdain in her voice added, “some parents don’t earn the love of their children.”

The professor arched an eyebrow, not at all bothered to hide his reaction. If he had trusted his words would drive Yashiro to despair, he had ultimately failed irrevocably. And that mistake provoked a fleeting smirk of admiration, implying that he had underestimated her. He half-opened his lips and was speechless for a few simple seconds, concluding in a dark, impenetrable smile. To him that situation was nothing more than a game, but he had realized that Yashiro was not just another piece. He found it amusing to be talking to her, he enjoyed watching her go from complete stupefaction to the deepest hatred in a matter of seconds.

“Do you think if your father had not died that day, your mother would still be alive?” Professor Shibata asked in a peaceful and innocent tone.

Yashiro held his gaze for a few long seconds, absorbed, in truth, by the direction the conversation had taken. It seemed that the man sitting opposite her, had been waiting a long time to ask her such questions. The professor’s disguise was beginning to crumble and she could spot the real face underneath, the one he was trying so hard to hide. He wished to wear her down to her shell and discover how interesting she was inside.

“He would have killed us both,” she muttered in a bitter sigh.

Yashiro’s sharp words gave way to a half-minute silence, in which both remained engrossed in their own thoughts. Responding in such a manner caused her a sense of peace that she had never appreciated before. Her whole body relaxed in the chair instantly, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. And only then, did she realize how important the need to share that feeling had been, the same one that night after night was eating away at her. In the end, it was true that an innate desire that all human beings had in common, was to be recognized by their peers. After all, existence is defined by the perception of others; if a person dies and everyone forgets about him, how can one corroborate that he ever existed?

“What did you feel when you killed him?” He just blurted out.

Nothing in her finite existence could have prepared her for that question. Yashiro looked into his eyes, noting the radiant interest they displayed. She closed her eyes in despair as the images raced through her mind, causing excruciating pain in her chest. She perceived the warm blood back on her hands, which doubled with each stab. Life had abandoned her father with the first ones, but she continued to handle the knife with a suddenness that was not like her. Her mother was safe, but she believed that body could awaken at any moment and harm them.

When she finally stopped her action looked at what she had done, panting from exhaustion. The scene seemed so unreal that for a moment she felt disconnected from her body, as if she were not herself, as if she had ceased to exist. A shudder ran through her whole body as if she had suddenly taken a bath in cold water, and she abruptly returned to reality. Lying was such a simple thing that one could quickly get used to its action, but something in the young man’s eyes prompted her to tell the truth, to describe the unheard of.

“I felt like everyone was approving of my answer,” Yashiro whispered avoiding eye contact. Then she closed her eyes, feeling like a child again. “I was… relieved. I felt good.”

He, to her surprise, nodded slowly and deeply. The warmth in his fine features expressed an indescribable complicity and Yashiro contemplated a smile lightening up on his face. All the fear she had felt until then was soon gone.

“That’s why I’m here,” the young man stated in a whisper. “To prove that the pleasure you felt, was from trying to save your mother. For surviving. Not for killing your father.”

Yashiro blinked several times, as her thoughts flowed of their own accord and took shape and meaning in her mind. Her lips trembled with suspicion, being noticeable enough for someone who observed as accurately as Shibata. It looked like they were about to utter a word, but a second later they regretted it. Blood was returning to her hands and she could still sense the smell of death permeating her own skin, as if it were already part of her own.

She lost her sight in another direction, but her mind was still processing that horrible image with the efficiency of a machine. She remembered in great detail the enormous peace that had swept through her after she finally realized that her father had died. At that time she could think of nothing but her victory. She had not even wondered how her mother, who had suffered twice as much, would be. The only thought that crossed her mind, in that situation, was that of having successfully dispensed justice.

“I’m not sure I didn’t mean to hold that knife,” she admitted in a quavering voice.

The professor raised his face a few inches, apparently moved by the sincerity of her response. Yashiro saw the reflection of her face on the knife blade, felt the cold of the material clinging to her skin, complementing her entire soul. Her hands clenched into a fist and she rested them on her legs, trying not to show her condition. The professor stayed properly seated with his arms together on the wooden surface. His eyes were glowing like those of a child on his birthday.

“If your intention was to kill him, it’s because you understand his motives. It’s beautiful in its own way, if you can analyze it,” Yashiro gave him a quick glance, frowning, and he continued in a melodious, imposing tone, while leaning forward a few inches as if to share a secret, “expressing the unmentionable.”

The young man tilted his head to the side, as if seeking her approval. And Yashiro understood, she had been through it herself. It was not like solving a problem in the logic of an algorithm or repairing a car, whose solutions were predictable. However, she could not help but look out, embarrassed, in a way, by those extravagant feelings that lay beneath her skin. The isolation that seeped into her bones was something she found hard to struggle with, and the atmosphere was stifling.

“You feel bad because you enjoyed killing him?” He asked slowly, savoring the words in a tone bordering on sarcasm.

Yashiro knew then that he was trying to get inside her mind, to go even further than she thought. She studied his features, the action of those words he so skillfully used. He was definitely no ordinary person. He seemed to enjoy people’s reaction, the attitude they took towards extreme situations, even if they crossed the fine line of the socially accepted. She managed to calm her hands, which until then had remained tightly closed over her legs, and gave him a penetrating glance, as threatening as death itself.

“I feel bad because I couldn’t save my mother.”

With those sincere words, a deep and bitter silence was formed. As the man examined her every expression, Yashiro simply stared at the table, her lips pursed. She felt that she was on the verge of tears, she could sense the wetness in her eyes, but she held back with all her might, reluctant to appear vulnerable in front of him. The thin body of her mother had been reduced to ashes, right in front of her eyes. Beside her stood the perpetrator of the slaughter. So small, and yet it managed to take away the will of the bearer, succeeding in judging people with its own voice. It was easy to take a life when the will fell into something else.

“Sibyl must enjoy it too,” he remarked, leaning forward gracefully. “It always does.”

Yashiro blinked, noting the obvious contempt reflected in both his voice and his burning amber eyes. He was truly willing to do anything to see the system that ruled the country crumble. He fantasized about watching it destroyed by the free voice of its own citizens. He longed to stand before its fall, observing the fire consume everything in its path.

“And it feels good about that?” She asked in a raspy voice.

The young man paused, looking in another direction to seek inspiration, until he returned to the silvery eyes of the student.

“As expressed by Tamora, the Queen of the Goths: _“is the sun dimmed that gnats do fly in it? The eagle suffers little birds to sing and is not careful what they mean thereby, knowing that with the shadow of his wings, he can at pleasure stint their melody.”_

His words echoed in Yashiro’s consciousness, but instead of slowly fading away they remained present. Some that were understandable and robust enough not to be forgotten.

“Have you ever felt the same, Professor Shibata?” She suddenly asked, with a sly and inquisitive grin. “Or should I say… Makishima Shougo?”

If the man was surprised, he did not show it; he just released a sweet, gentle smile, narrowing his eyes. Yashiro stayed impassive for a few moments, completely upright, until she softened her expression and stretched out in the chair, looking at him with clear complicity. He must have had his reasons for concealing his identity and decided not to ask any more about it. If in ancient times all people were innocent until law proved otherwise, at present-day everyone was a potential criminal waiting to be judged. And his presence was, for the first time, certainly threatening.


	13. 12

When Ryoji Hashida opened his eyes again, the light was so bright that it pierced his vision for a few moments, and he had to close them tightly several times until finally came back to reality and looked helplessly at his environment. He was on some kind of stretcher, but its surface was so solid and cold that it made him shiver, he could not understand there was not at least a mattress. He was unable to see his surroundings due to the extensive lighting that pointed directly at his face, but he assumed it was a hospital.

He grumbled to himself that a politician like him had to be in such a wild place. He would take it upon himself to personally criticize whoever moved him to that filthy hospital. No one deserved such a place, especially not him. It was a cold and overwhelming environment, so dark that he began to wish he could fall asleep again. Somewhere a peaceful and ominous piano sounded, similar to a lonely and endless cry.

As the melody danced in the air, his heart increased in frequency, as if it were little by little running out of air. When he proceeded to get up, was surprised that his body did not react. He tried harder again, but then noticed that he was handcuffed, or somehow tied up on the metal surface. He could not move his hands and feet, and desperation ran through his consciousness like a bucket of ice water over his body.

“Is anyone there?”

For a moment he did not even recognize his own voice, the ever-victorious and self-assured one, which was now, instead, trembling. His whole body felt numb, and he did not know whether it was because of fear or because of the alcohol he had drunk with so much desire. It was then that he pressed his lips, furious with himself for having drunk too quickly. And so he remembered that night. The bottle of alcohol. The conversation with that curious young man who could not stop snickering… the subsequent fall.

Suddenly, he came to hear a sharp knock in the distance, like a metal door closing. For a few eternal seconds he felt only the heavy beating of his heart, as if it were about to explode. An indescribable terror completely overwhelmed him and his eyes automatically narrowed, as if they refused of their own free will to observe the inevitable. Deep down, he longed for someone to greet him with open arms, a warm and gentle welcome.

Subtle, slow steps filled the air with a mysterious stealth, and he felt sweat running down his forehead, even though it was freezing to death. He groped with his hands on the stretcher —he was beginning to believe it was a simple table— looking for something that could help him get out of there, in vain, since there was nothing within his reach, he was all alone, adrift.

“Finally awake, Mr. Hashida.”

Kozaburo Toma sounded so natural that he forgot everything for a moment. His footsteps rumbled throughout the room, accompanied by the melancholy piano, until he drew close enough. The young man’s face came between him and the terrible beam of light, and he leaned over his body with a certain arrogance, like a raven, placing his arms on either side of his body, at shoulder height.

The brown in his eyes radiated in a supernatural and extraordinary way. He neither understood what had happened, nor knew exactly where he was, and yet the fear that had paralyzed his whole being until then, began to slowly evaporate with the simple company of Toma, that young man who was the spitting image of personal well-being and stability. His attractiveness was so visible, he was surprised that he was single.

“Any idea what happened?”

Toma smiled crookedly exposing the purest sweetness, like a little boy being caught by his parents. His brown hair was falling forward and Ryoji watched him carefully. Whenever he was around, the aura he gave off was intoxicating on a level he could not even comprehend, the same aura that affected all the other women passing by. In a way he reminded him of himself when he was younger. At that point, he did not really know whether the alcohol effect had worn off or he was still in the same mood. In fact, he was still confused as if in a gooey, lucid dream, and Toma’s voice completely lulled him to sleep.

“You were drugged, but you’ll be fine.”

Ryoji gave a simpering smile, but words came back to his mind like knives and he slowly widened his eyes, unable to believe what he had heard. He tried to get up once more, demanding with a pleading look that his friend pull him out, but no sooner did he do so than Toma’s hands threw themselves at his cheeks with a force he did not know, showing a huge shadow on his face, a rage that burned in his eyes, as if they wished to burn him at that very moment, until he forcibly rested him on the metal surface again, causing him a slight pain in the back of his head. Ryoji closed his eyes from the sudden blow and let out a muffled groan on the spot. Toma stepped away and his footsteps broke the calm of the room again.

“Where am I? Why won’t you let me up?”

Toma did not answer any of his questions, and instead, seemed to go from one place to another, without saying a word. Ryoji’s heart shot out violently and looked around over and over again, searching for who he thought was his friend, anyone who was nearby. All he wanted in those moments was to get out of there. He would have wished for his bodyguards to resolve the conflict instantly, but he was alone. Professor Toma continued the hard work he had been engaged in with such impetus. Ryoji struggled to look, but the light was constantly blinding him, and in truth, deep down, he was beginning to wonder if that was for the best.

The cold seeped deep into his bones, and all his body shook in the face of the unknown. He had never considered himself a patient person, and that moment was no exception, so after a few seconds, he jerked fiercely on the table like an angry animal, producing a metallic noise, in order to attract Toma’s attention, the only one who could get him out of there and who, on the contrary, remained completely distant as if he no longer recognized him.

His efforts proved to be in vain, since Toma kept walking back and forth, sometimes stopping, as if he were analyzing something, and then moving again around him. Once again, he doubted whether he was actually awake, for everything seemed so strange that he longed to sleep again and forget everything; he would be able to get drunk once more, to leave that horrible, depressing place.

“I warned you, Mr. Hashida.”

Toma’s voice was still strangely soft, even though he seemed to spit out the words instead of pronouncing them delicately, as was usual in his speaking manner. Ryoji remained speechless for a few long seconds, feeling as if he were drowning inside, and did not really know what to say about. For the first time he was beginning to worry about the young man’s closeness, whose voice seemed to have been transformed into a defiant, deathly authority, that embraced the entire surrounding environment.

Ryoji stopped breathing when he saw him approaching, casting a shadow over his body. He had a withering gaze that he had never noticed before, and a chill ran down his spine as he saw the way his lips curled into a smirk full of mystery, as if hiding sordid intentions. He had to make a huge effort to open his mouth, which was shaking slightly with nerves.

“What you’re talking about?”

Toma tilted his head gently, in a sign of disapproval and weariness, and frowned as if he were surprised or pretending to be. Ryoji no longer really knew who he was addressing, the person in front of him could not be the professor he had met, he did not want to believe it. Time passed by slowly, but he was still imprisoned there, and he had the feeling that Toma did not intend to help him. He again leaned forward a few inches toward his face, never taking his eyes off of Ryoji’s. He did not look in the least like the man he had known until then, he was now a completely different being, as if he had exchanged his body and mind with the will of someone else.

“Money can’t buy everything. You see then, how useful it is when you’re about to die.”

Ryoji’s eyes were opened in astonishment, but it lasted a few moments, for then he slowly closed them, sighing in a deep way. The words took hold of his mind with such eagerness, that the face of the person he most loved in the world regained importance. His fists were clenched on the table and although he tried to hide his emotions, he could not help but snort, in an almost imperceptible gesture, but which did not go unnoticed by Toma, who did not stop studying him very carefully.

“My wife… is she all right?”

Ryoji swallowed his spit when silence fell, and the only thing he heard was the characteristic sound of saliva coming down his throat. Toma’s face stood impassive at his slow sinking, as well as the moon in the high sky, silent on her own journey. For half a minute, both analyzed each other like two beasts about to fight. Ryoji was breathless, and his appearance, at that moment, resembled that of a sparrow being caught by the curious hands of a child. His eyes were open with surprise, and his whole body remained immovable in the intimidating presence and attitude of Toma, as if he had become a mere corpse under his spell.

“Which part do you mean?” The professor asked, biting his lip. Absolute silence. “It was a joke! Cheer up a little, Mr. Hashida. Your wife is fine. She didn’t make it home. I wonder what more important business she would have. What a shame, I’d have loved to share a drink with her,” Toma’s face suddenly darkened with a certain melancholy. “Your daughter was very beautiful, have you been told?”

Ryoji’s round face looked at him with a burning fury, like a lion longing to tear him apart at that very moment, without caring about his own life. Toma let out a smile at his reaction, as if he had expected it and was rejoicing in it. When the politician began to utter different types of insults, completely giving up his life, his entire existence, aware that he no longer had anything or anyone, Toma stepped aside and turned around with abysmal solemnity. Ryoji followed him with his gaze until the beam of light struck him again on the table, producing a slight burning in his eyes. He shook himself again like a leech with violence on the surface, trying to free himself, but ended up concluding that his efforts were in vain and inhaled air deeply, shattered.

“Get me out of here!”

His cries were in vain. Ryoji was frozen when he heard a deafening metallic sound, followed by the footsteps of the young man around. The piano persisted in its smooth and impetuous march, but at that moment it only managed to make him desperate. Suddenly and in response, Toma’s figure let itself be glimpsed again, as he lifted his arms to put on white latex gloves and brought a small metal table, which contained different types of surgical instruments on a tray. He felt sweat running all over his skin.

“You politicians are all the same. You live at the expense of others, you don’t know how to live by yourselves,” Toma spat.

The professor smiled as he licked his lips furtively. The terror eating away at Ryoji’s mind was so great that he could hardly interpret what was happening, he refused completely to believe what his eyes were witnessing. When Toma skillfully brought the tools to his head, he looked as imperturbable as a living corpse, and the situation seemed so unreal to him that for a moment he thought he was dead. Ryoji’s body twisted like an animal, and his gaze went from the young man’s dark eyes to his scalpel-carrying hands.

In spite of pleading with his eyes and shaking like a lab rat, the man continued his work with expert hands, not altered in the least by his deplorable state. Ryoji had never in his life felt such an intense desire to kill someone, as he was feeling at the time. He longed to have him in his own hands, even though he had always considered himself a coward. In the end, it was true that a man who has nothing to lose, is braver than an army.

Toma, for his part, moved his head gently to accompany the melody that sounded in the air. When he placed the sharp instrument on Ryoji’s skull, just above his short dark hair, the latter shuddered at the touch, and for a few moments, he was unable to breathe or even move his fingers. Time had stopped, but the impact of the object seemed to him like torture and his scream was so atrocious that it reverberated throughout the room.

His eyes automatically closed and he felt the tears running down his cheeks, as the young man continued. He had never longed for death as much as he did at that time, and among his fluctuating thoughts he seemed to see the face of his daughter. Blood was dripping on his head and when the young man stopped for some moments, he no longer cared to open his eyes to look at him. He felt that he would faint from the pain at any moment, and he found it most gratifying.

The dance continued voraciously and flamingly for a long time, immersed in a solitary and nocturnal ecstasy that was accompanied by music. When it was finally over, Toma took off his latex gloves, leaving them on the adjacent table. Sighing slowly and softly, he kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, in a slight dancing position, imprisoned in admiration for the melody that brightened up the atmosphere.

When he returned to reality, he pulled back his hair and took a long look at the body lying on the center table, covered with a dark and intense red like a Chinese rose on his skull. He decided to get some fresh air, and left the cold room full of memories, at least, until someone caught his attention and made him frown, confident so far of human absence.

“Have you read _Othello_?”

Toma suddenly stopped his impetuous march due to such a delicate voice, and it took him a few seconds to put his thoughts aside and return to the question posed. He tilted his head to the right, and there he stood leaning against the wall, with a book in his hands, Professor Makishima. He closed the volume with an implacable sweetness, turning his head and giving him a grinning face, overflowing with mockery and irony.

“Cassio said… _‘it has pleased the devil drunkenness to give place to the devil wrath’_.”


	14. 13

It only took a few moments for the interior of the elevator to be obstructed by an immense grayish cloud. The smell of tobacco filled the small space, suffocating those who were not used to its presence. The wait became more and more interminable as the platform ascended at walking pace, producing clicks of old and worn metal, due to the little maintenance given to it, if any at all. That was a low-income area which was falling apart as time went by, it was the lion’s den, where security drones had no access.

“This place is depressing. After we catch this guy we could order some beers, my treat. What you say, Ko?” Mitsuru Sasayama suggested, with a rough and tired voice.

In view of the seriousness on the part of Inspector Shinya Kougami, the enforcer decided to throw a puff of smoke in his face, forming abstract figures in the air such an embracing gift. Kougami could not stop coughing as he inhaled the deep smell, and with his right hand he pushed away some of the smoke, which illuminated the bored face of his partner in a dry and unpleasant laugh, with which he was already familiar. In spite of that annoyance, when the brown eyes met the gray ones of the inspector, a slight complicit smile brought them together.

“Focus on the job first,” Kougami scolded him without looking away from the front, although his words seemed to border on a certain affirmation.

When the elevator stopped, it took a couple of seconds for the door to open, and the decay was very noticeable with the brief tremor it caused. Kougami stepped forward and continued walking, followed by the enforcer, who sighed and threw the cigarette to the floor, not bothering to crush it with the sole of his shoe. There were dozens more under his feet, and at his sides he could see alcohol bottles falling from trash cans. As they moved down the long alley, the stench of urine intensified, becoming more perceptible. The few people they were able to detect, were hidden from prying eyes, especially from those who carried a dominator.

The apartment building they were looking for rose up in front of them in an imposing manner, even though it was adjacent to a threat of ruin. They entered without asking for any kind of authorization, and since the elevator was not working, they proceeded to use the old enemy of modern ones: stairs. The steps of both colleagues resonated in the filthy atmosphere, but it was a few blows in the distance near their destination that instantly caught their attention. Sasayama arched an eyebrow, tilting his head in the direction of the sound, while Kougami observed his every move, such a hunter to his hound, waiting for a new stimulus.

Once again, silence was broken for a short second by the fall of a glass object, which after touching the ground shattered into a thousand pieces, followed by a momentary and dull moan, that seemed to come from a woman. Then, they were overwhelmed with the calm of the night. Sasayama frowned and narrowed his eyes, which seemed to desire to set fire to everything around them.

A few seconds were enough for him to launch himself in recognition of that incident. As usual, the inspector had to run after him, dominator in hand, in case the situation became even more dangerous. The concern on Kougami’s face was disturbed when he realized that the identifier on the door of the conflicting apartment, was related to the one they were looking for from the beginning. Sasayama knocked it open.

The man for whom that search made sense was in the middle of the room, his shirt half open and straddling the body of a much younger blonde woman. The girl’s lips trembled uncontrollably, her eyes turning from the image of the man to the intruder, with a desolate and empty expression.

The subject had an alcohol bottle in his hands and was threatening to hit the girl, but faced with the uncertainty that the untimely interruption caused him, he jumped up ready to confront Sasayama, leaving her aside. The enforcer, however, attacked him with an inhuman and deadly force, as if he had lost the use of reason and his only objective became, at the moment, to kill that man with his own hands.

Kougami heard him fall with a sharp blow, so hard that he thought he would have hurt his head. When he finally reached the apartment, it was then that a deaf and laborious moaning, both human and animal, began to be heard; Sasayama was over the subject’s body delivering blow after blow in the middle of his face, as if he wanted to erase him, as if he needed to make him disappear. Blood flowed like a crimson river as much from his fists as from the face of the fallen one.

Kougami could no longer tell which of the two was screaming the loudest, whether the man in pain, about to pass out, or his own colleague in the ecstasy of fighting. The young woman had crawled into the corner of the room, afraid of everyone present, and was curled up against the wall. The inspector pulled the dominator out to aim at the direction of the girl and thus record her condition, which seemed to become unstable with each passing second.

_Crime coefficient is 182. Enforcement mode is Non-Lethal Paralyzer. Aim calmly and subdue the target._

The number continued to increase at a rapid pace. Although the young woman was finally safe, the scene that took place in front of her eyes had completely paralyzed her, Sasayama’s fists clouded her hue. Kougami pulled the trigger and the girl was instantly unconscious, her body relaxed in fetal position. The enforcer was unaware of what was going on around him, it seemed that all he cared about was seeing the man dying under his body.

Kougami called him once, twice, and yet his screams were drowned out by the punches and grunts of his colleague. When he understood that he would not be heard at that moment, he pounced on Sasayama in an attempt to pull him away from the subject’s body, who was shaking in full pain. At first, he received a few shoves, but after half a minute he managed to bring his friend back to reality.

“That’s enough,” Kougami exclaimed, standing in front of him so he would not throw himself on the drunk again.

When he aimed at the man with his dominator, he found that although his psycho pass was high, the Sibyl System did not take him as a latent criminal. No doubt it was child abuse, and the man had serious explaining to do, but he did not present any major danger. He pulled the trigger, totally paralyzing the subject, just as he began to cough up blood in a frantic manner.

Sasayama had his fists clenched and his gaze fixed on the subject who was almost beaten to death, if it were not for the interruption of his superior. He was breathing heavily and walking around, staying one meter away from the man. Kougami observed the abstract figure that minutes before had been a face, and then he realized, after a smile, that at that point, the pathetic man would be more afraid of meeting again with someone like Sasayama, than with the accusing look of a dominator.

“I was just socializing,” Sasayama clicked his tongue, running his hand through his hair.

“You sure know how to make friends,” Kougami remarked.

A heart-rending silence ensued, strangely uncomfortable for both of them. For the first time, Sasayama was looking away with his hands on his hips, as if he had not really been able to hear him. It was not the first incident they had had, since Kougami had seen him utterly unload on abusers before, and if it were not for his interruption, he would even be capable of beating them to death, each and every one of them. He comprehended then the warning of Inspector Ginoza, who compared Sasayama to a hostile and independent hound.

“That’s not a man, it’s a beast,” the enforcer spat on the ground, near the unconscious body. “And you can’t reason with beasts. Sooner or later he’ll get drunk and beat his daughter again, saying the typical ‘I just get bent out of shape because of alcohol’ clichés.”

Sasayama’s voice always sounded bitter, as if his throat were constantly dry or it were the hatred contained that could not get out of him. In those moments, he looked like a tiger about to jump over his prey, and Kougami found him difficult to understand, even though he tried to do so every day they spent together, solving cases. Unlike Ginoza, he considered him to be as human as he was. Life situations made them who they were, and in Sasayama’s case, they had been less favorable.

“Hopefully your lesson will keep him in the hospital long enough.”

Kougami released a mocking smile, but when he looked at him again, he turned his expression off as he noticed him certainly meditating, as if seeking inspiration in the unconscious and bloody body next to him.

“In the past, prisons were inefficient because they simply put a rabid dog on a leash after it had already torn a child to pieces,” Sasayama blurted out, with an unusual dreamy look. “Today, going against the law or being susceptible to stress guarantees death. A quick and cheap solution, but equally or worse useless. You know what’s the problem? The human being. When he gets out, I bet you anything he’ll try to kill her.

Kougami frowned, suddenly feeling like he was at a dead end. For some strange reason the enforcer’s words became engrossed in his mind, and though he tried to forget them in every possible way, they returned to his consciousness like sharp blades. He came to imagine the tall, thin image of Ginoza at his side, casting an accusing glance under his glasses as he was drawn, more and more, into the minds of the enforcers. An incomprehensible abyss to him, which was full of answers to questions he had not yet asked himself.

It was right then that the characteristic sound of incoming call, caught the attention of both. Kougami raised his left arm and pressed the wristband to interface with the emitter. In a split second, the vivid image of Nobuchika Ginoza’s face appeared on the hologram, almost as a response to his thoughts. Sasayama did not move from his place, he just observed the scene in silence, perceiving as he did a bad feeling. It was the first time they had seen Ginoza so solemn, almost as if he had come out of a family member’s funeral, so they automatically kept silent and waited for him to say what he had to say.

“Did you find the subject?” The inspector asked, bluntly.

Sasayama was about to cross his arms, when just then he noticed the exuberant amount of blood on his hands and returned them to both sides of his body, shaking them with a scowl, irritated again. Kougami looked at the man lying on the floor, his arms open and his legs stretched out. He had purple eye sockets and a face bathed in blood. His lips were cut and bruised, a total sack of blood. He exchanged a glance with his colleague for a few brief, but understandable seconds, until he finally decided to turn to the other inspector.

“We managed to paralyze him, as well as his daughter,” Kougami replied, staring absently at the girl’s youthful body, still unconscious at one side of the room.

On the other hand, Ginoza did not seem to have any intention of asking more about it. He actually showed no apparent signs of concern or surprise about the situation. His mind was far away, sailing on to other problems that had little to do with the case they had just solved. Something was definitely going on, and both Kougami and his enforcer were unaware of it, for the moment. And that only made them excited.

“Good. When you’re done, go to the Iyasaka Traditional Restaurant. We have a new case, something that has never been seen before,” the inspector took a quick look at Sasayama as he made an uncomfortable pause. “We’ll need his good sense of smell, as well as your insight.”

Kougami replied that they would be on their way shortly, and when communication was cut off, he exchanged a long glance with the enforcer. Sasayama took a pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket, and lit one. That was a gesture he knew well, for it usually indicated that a difficult conflict to resolve was approaching. He could sense the bad mood increasing, more and more, in his expression.

“Looks like beers will have to wait” Sasayama commented, breathing out a big puff of smoke in the middle of the room. 

After the apartment was closed and both the girl and the man were taken into custody, Kougami and Sasayama drove to the restaurant that had been mentioned to them in complete silence. When they arrived, they could see that the whole premises was closed and there were drones guarding the place, preventing people from passing by or becoming curious and accessing it in a clandestine manner, in order to find something more exciting to show off later on in the networks and get more followers.

“This is the Criminal Investigation Department, part of the Public Safety Bureau,” a drone was saying with that obnoxious female voice. “Access to this block is currently restricted to ensure safety.”

It was colder than an hour before, and Kougami put his hands in his pants pockets. They headed to the scene and both presented their digital identification for the drone to grand them passage. Some meters ahead, they noticed the athletic figure of the inspector, who despite being so handsome, had only room in his mind for work-related responsibilities.

“I wondered when you would come,” Inspector Ginoza rebuked.

The coldness that his presence emanated was chilling, and more than one felt cowed by his gaze, especially if they did not know him. When he turned to them, he adjusted his glasses, and the green in his eyes fulminated them in a disturbing way, which no longer had any effect on them. He was standing properly upright, with the usual dark inspector’s suit, and his black hair was falling over part of his face in several locks.

“We’re glad to see you too,” Sasayama replied mockingly, holding the cigarette with his fingers.

Ginoza cast a murderous glance at him for a few long seconds, but in the end, he chose to ignore him as he used to do with all enforcers. They were not human to him. Kougami had always thought that he had a quite exaggerated vision, but he was never able to change his mind. Sometimes he was too reluctant to listen to others.

“I’ll show you the crime scene,” Ginoza declared turning around.

Sasayama looked at Kougami and shrugged his shoulders, ready to follow the other inspector. Ginoza led them to the front garden of the restaurant, where a prominent figure rose in front of them. Kougami stopped halfway, suddenly opening his eyes, while Sasayama directly dropped the cigarette from his mouth. Neither of them was able to utter a single word, they were just checking that what they had in front of their eyes was indeed real. A magnificent scene, which could even be considered a work of art. A dark, gloomy, and frightening work, but very well developed.

Both studied in great detail every inch of the body of what had once been a man, seeking any irregularities that might serve them. It was so well made, however, that it looked like a painting, a hologram. It did not seem real at all, and Kougami began to imagine the confused face of the people passing by; probably, at first they would not have believed that it was a person of flesh and blood, the only thing that might have crossed their minds, at that moment, was the simple idea that it was a tasteless hologram, to attract the attention of customers. The psycho hazard it could cause was unimaginable.

“Promotional strategies are getting weirder these days,” Sasayama observed, walking around without looking away from the figure.

Kougami smiled slightly, being scolded by the attentive gaze of the other inspector. Yet, he knew that the enforcer had never seen anything like that before, and was as shocked as they were. It was disturbing that such a thing could be originated by a human being, if it was appropriate to call it that. Sasayama could hardly imagine the motives that had led the perpetrator to carry out such a murder, and felt that his hue became cloudy at the mere thought of it.

“The corpse belongs to Ryoji Hashida and was found by Anna Nakamichi, a member of the Akasaka Waste Management Bureau,” Ginoza explained with the professionalism that characterized him, squinting. “It’s impossible to estimate the exact time of his death, although it’s believed that it occurred when Hashida met another member of the Diet Lower House, Mitsuru Ishihara, without considering the amount of time the plastination process needs. The stress in the area jumped four levels when it came to light. Media censorship is currently under way.”

Kougami took a few steps forward to better contemplate the exhibition. The corpse had his skull cleanly cut open, and his brain had been completely gouged out. The hippocampus, the part of the brain that played an important role in memory, had been inserted into his anus. Sasayama was bent over, examining the same carefully, such an artwork whose message was hidden, and waiting to be discovered by those who knew how to observe.

“Whoever did it, must be anxious to know what his audience thinks,” said a thick voice behind them.

The three of them turned around, thus finding Tomomi Masaoka. In spite of his stocky appearance, and of almost always wearing that tan trench coat which so characterized him and gave him an intimidating look, his gestures were kind. When he was closer to them, he directed a gentle smile to Ginoza, though the latter turned his gaze to the corpse, forcing himself to completely ignore him in order to get lost again in the monotony of work. 

It was admirable, in turn, the unwavering patience that Masaoka had. He seemed to be enveloped in a cloud that was never broken by stress or any outside conflict. Whenever there was a case to be solved, he always used reason and remained cool even in more complex situations. As a painter, he knew that every work longed for spectators. Perhaps he was not really a painter, but deep down, the culprit was seeking to be recognized by society, he was looking to leave some kind of message with his work. And they were willing to discover it.


	15. 14

Rikako Oryo’s hand danced gently on the paper with a pure and unparalleled dexterity, as she directed a glance at the motionless figure posing one meter away, to identify whether she should change a certain detail in her sketch or simply continue with the hard work. The most difficult part she found was the hand, since it was holding the chin in an analytical posture, and every time she looked at it, she could not avoid being distracted by the thin lips and the somewhat pointed nose that the face displayed. The eyes were squinted, and the light coming through the wide window of the room seemed to reflect magic upon the silvery they emitted. Rikako was struck by the faint smile that had long illuminated Yashiro’s expression. She looked like a little girl who could not help but laugh after committing her first bad deed.

“Ever since we ran into my classmate, that smile hasn’t left your face,” Rikako remarked in a soft tone.

Yashiro extended the gesture, as if she had been waiting for the commentary, but was still unable to hide the fun. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, which she could contemplate from her position even though she was sitting. It was sometimes necessary to make certain pauses when talking, to take a breath and think, or simply to observe the other, and both had become accustomed to it long ago, so Rikako kept looking closely at her, considering every detail. A half smile was drawn on her face, when she realized that Yashiro had to make a great effort to avoid reaching out and bending over, so that Rikako could finish the sketch more efficiently and quickly.

“It saddens me to find girls who, from such a young age, are instilled with the obligation to get married, have children, a good car…”

Yashiro grimaced in disgust and closed her eyes for a moment, tilting her head as if trying to rebuke her own words and push the thought out of her mind. She stayed silent for a few seconds, until she clenched her chin hand tightly into a fist.

“I think you and I have the same position regarding the educational policy of the Ousou Academy,” the young Oryo assumed looking down for one thousandth of a second. “It’s strange… we’re in a completely different time, where women can choose to be more than their predecessors, those whose only natural reason for existence was the mere fact of giving birth. As Ayn Rand rightly mentioned, parenthood is a huge responsibility. Deciding to be a mother or a father is to be willing to sacrifice oneself for the life of a child, it’s to end up becoming a means to an end, where the end becomes the child in question…”

The silence that followed was impressive and incredibly long. Yashiro heard her speak with her lips slightly open, like a child who listens to a great story before falling asleep. She felt her heart beating fast as if it were going to leave at any moment, a victim of Rikako’s way of thinking, one she had never known and which, at the time, resembled hers so much that it even seemed unreal to her that she was a person of flesh and blood. For a long time, she was speechless. And when her heart finally started beating normally again, Yashiro leaned back proudly, letting out a smile full of mockery.

“But you’re just a teenager!” Yashiro sneered with disdain. “When you grow up, you’ll change your mind and have children, a husband who loves you and repeats incessantly how beautiful you are…”

Rikako bit her lip as she shook her head and looked around. Her fists clenched like she was making a great effort to avoid hitting someone, and when she finally dared to turn her gaze to Yashiro, it took only a few seconds for all her consternation to dissipate. Without knowing how or when, both exchanged a complicit smile and ended up laughing at the comment. It had been a long time since Rikako had felt that emotion eating away at her insides, and in a way, it was comforting. There were so many students, and yet none seemed as interesting as young Takahashi. She had long since finished the sketch and Yashiro just sat there, lost both in her thoughts and in the view that Rikako was giving, until a sudden knock interrupted the long-awaited peace, almost making the whole floor vibrate.

“Yashiro! Uh… am I interrupting something?”

Yashiro’s smile dissolved entirely at once, and she tilted her head in the direction of the high voice with an almost palpable seriousness. A girl with brown hair in a ponytail stood at the door, still with her hand on the doorknob, as if she were undecided or actually afraid to go in. She was a classmate of hers called Saori Hamada and she found it strange that she was looking for her, since she had not planned anything with her. She wondered if she would need help with some exercise, but she did not see it possible as it was still a long way off the exam dates. The shadow that had been cast on Yashiro’s face was as disturbing as fleeting, although it only lasted a split second and was not noticed by the newcomer, but by Rikako.

“Not at all! Feel free to come in.”

After a few moments of uncertainty, Saori decided to pass by smiling openly. When she approached them both, she suddenly stopped and gave them a mischievous look, her light brown eyes shining brightly. Yashiro could not help but frown, though she said nothing. Rikako, on the other hand, only smiled inwardly the way she used to when she enjoyed watching her partner get upset. The only thing she wanted at that point was for the young woman to say what she had to say and turn around the way she had come. Yashiro apparently intuited her thoughts, as she exchanged an eloquent glance with her and raised her face a few millimeters, alluding to the all-important patience.

“Excuse me if I’m bothering you, but did you hear about the murder?”

Yashiro guided her gaze towards the surroundings, making memory, until the image of the politician Ryoji Hashida came to her mind. She remembered seeing him through pictures in the garden of a restaurant, and it had been all a mess in the news ever since. It had made society tremble in a way that had never been seen before. When she finally managed to draw a smile on her face, she turned to the girl.

“What about that?”

The young woman opened her eyes in complete surprise and stood there frozen for several seconds, the color seemed to have left her skin as if she had been submerged in a sea of cold water. Her sight was fixed on the floor, unable to look her directly in the eyes. Yashiro squinted as she sensed, in the face of the obvious discomfort, that something was happening. She began to wonder if it was related to the great sorrow she had perceived in her classmates that very morning, who were chatting in class without paying attention to what the teachers were explaining, immersed in a clear conflict that affected them all equally.

“I don’t know if it’s true, but… there are certain rumors. It has been leaked on the networks that the Public Safety Bureau has its eyes on this academy. They’re looking for someone on the inside. Seems like the politician met with someone from this academy, but it’s unknown who because he didn’t share the information with anyone.”

Yashiro arched an eyebrow at the impact of her words and let silence break through the room. She tilted her head in the direction of Rikako, looking for her company to see that she had indeed reacted the same way. Neither of them had expected such news, and it must have been so recent that it had not yet been made public among both teachers and students. Yashiro was so shocked that she could not come to terms with it, or perhaps she did not want to believe her words. It started to make sense that such an establishment would harbor a murderer.

Although the Ousou Academy placed many restrictions, it was possible to break the rules, you just had to learn how to do it. The mere fact that it was conservative made it more vulnerable. Technology and science were advancing by leaps and bounds, and there were not even security cameras there. She sighed deeply on further reflection. She could foresee that someday security would be tightened, and therefore many things would stop happening within the academy, a few of them somewhat innocent and others a little more serious. The teachers would no longer even have the same contact with their students, fearful of receiving any complaints. Yashiro smiled as she realized that when such a time came, she would no longer be there. Rikako, on the other hand, would have to go through it.

“Does anyone else know about this?” Rikako looked up and asked.

Saori shook her head, but they were not shocked. The entire city would be watching out for an imminent psycho hazard, and it would not be surprising if Ousou Academy imposed one of its usual barriers against viral news, when it came to protecting its students. A mechanism that was useful to the academy, but did not serve in the long term. Each and every one of them had to come to reality at some point or another, and they had to be prepared for it. And therein lay the problem. You could never be prepared.

Saori look down biting her lip unconsciously, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the other two students. The confidence and sweetness that Yashiro reflected, however, encouraged her to continue, and she soon showed a cheerful and sincere smile again. She was a person who entered into confidence too quickly, who could be convinced by simple pleasant words. One of the reasons why her presence was becoming unbearable for Yashiro.

“Still… I’ll try to warn the others,” Saori sought with some shyness. “At least to keep their eyes open.”

Yashiro kept her smile intact and never stopped looking into her eyes. She stood more upright in the chair and waited for a few seconds until she decided to face her, with the same softness and delicacy with which she treated her other classmates. Her eyes glowed in satisfaction and she carefully avoided expressing any aggression in her voice.

“I think it’s an excellent idea. Look for Izumi Hisakawa. She’s an expert on the web and can help you. Thanks for letting us know, Saori.”

The girl pursed her lips and remained silent for a while, as if analyzing her possibilities, until she nodded her head letting out an honest smile. Yashiro soothed her expression, relaxing her eyelids and stretching back slightly. Saori pointed to her by raising a thumb and rushed back to the classroom door. Yashiro raised a hand leaving it extended in the air for a few seconds, to greet her silently. But just as Saori opened the door to leave, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, as if time had frozen or something in the room had caught her attention, and decided to turn around again to look at the two students.

“Yashiro… be careful.”

Yashiro slowly nodded in her direction. Seconds later, Saori greeted her again with her hand and left the room, closing the door and producing an almost deafening sound. The atmosphere became dark and silent, as if it had been a victim of a tornado and there was nothing left but remains and memories around. Yashiro’s eyebrows were slightly furrowed and her eyes were lost on the floor, she was listening to the echo of the conversation that had taken place earlier. Rikako had been silent the whole time, and yet Yashiro felt her closer than ever, she could sense the burning in her gaze as a blinding ray of light. She still remembered the strange way Saori had looked at Rikako, almost as if she took her for someone who did not study at the academy.

“Trouble in paradise?” Rikako questioned in a sarcastic and equally somber tone.

Yashiro moistened her lips looking up at the ceiling, and tilted her head towards the young woman with a half-smile. The other, in response, simply shook her head.


	16. 15

Toma was leaning on his desk with his arms crossed, observing something that was not within his reach. He had recently been absent from his classes, and for the first time, Yashiro felt a strange sensation when she saw him. When she entered the room, she stopped short and the man turned his attention to her with a surprised smile, to which Yashiro responded with the same gesture. However, she could not take her eyes off the figure on his back, looking through the window. It was none other than Makishima Shougo.

The newcomer’s eyes suddenly opened and she felt the crazy rhythm of her heart, although she managed to hide it with a brief and instinctive nod. Makishima was smiling and she perceived a strange enthusiasm in his lips, which seemed to want to shout the reason and yet did not. Finally, and with great effort, Yashiro entered and closed the door gently, feeling the gazes settle on her. When she turned around, she walked towards them and kept some distance. Silence was almost morbid, but then Toma let out a soft laugh and shook his head.

“¡Ah, Yashiro…! I’m flattered you came to see me,” the young man exclaimed in an energetic tone of voice.

At first, Yashiro looked at him with an almost palpable seriousness. She found it strange that Makishima was there, and something inside her prevented her from getting any closer than necessary. She could see the sincerity in the words and allowed herself to smirk, tilting her head without giving the matter too much thought. Toma moved away from the desk to go to Yashiro, and when he was in front of her he wrapped one of his arms around her, while the other was left in his pant pocket. He let out another paused laugh that seemed to simulate seriousness, as he pressed the touch on her shoulder slightly. A mild grimace of stupefaction was drawn on Makishima’s lips.

“I see I’m not the only one,” Yashiro commented in a curious tone.

When she cast an expectant glance at the other man, he slowly raised his face as if he were being discovered. Toma seemed to sense the tension that was gradually building up in both, as seriousness returned to his face and he parted from Yashiro, albeit reluctantly. Toma had already mentioned her a few times that he had mistaken her for someone he had known for a long time, a strange feeling that united them despite being so different, as if they had studied together some time ago and were meeting again.

“Until a while ago there was no news about Ryoji Hashida, but now… he’s famous everywhere. Can you believe it?” Makishima remarked.

Yashiro frowned staring at the floor, as she pictured the politician being turned into an altar, full of comments from curious teenagers who took it as a joke, or simply shared it to gain more followers in their different profiles. A complete madness, but it was really happening. Many news, in fact, became popular because of the jokes that were made about them. There were those who did not know how to talk except with a joke or a viral image, and unfortunately that was spreading more and more like an epidemic; the epidemic of spectacle.

“I’m not surprised he’s gone so viral,” Yashiro sighed crossing her arms. “Anyone would be dying to take a picture of him. These days, even death becomes a spectacle. In a world where insecurity is an illusion, when death comes to knock on the door the only thing it gets is smiles; for it becomes more and more difficult to tell the difference between what is real and what is not, to distinguish what is a joke from what death really means…”

She could see the confused glances of people as they passed by such a corpse, believing, under their own innocence, that it was a bad taste hologram. She could feel the sea of admiration in the mind of some, those who stopped in order to enjoy the extravagant figure that had been placed in front of their eyes, while they took pictures of it, open-mouthed.

“A jungle where each and every one of its inhabitants is linked to each other, pretending that everything is fine, when in reality, they have danger right under their noses. A constant game in which everyone must remain still and indifferent to adversity, if they wish to survive and not be absorbed by danger,” Makishima added, raising his head.

“First one to move, reacting to barbarities, is dragged into the darkness,” Yashiro continued, tilting her head to the side in a gesture of approval.

“You think the culprit will like it?” Makishima asked placing a hand on his hip.

Yashiro turned her head towards him and remained silent for several seconds, thinking about the question. Finding herself then in front of the deplorable figure she contemplated the surroundings, searching for reasons that could incite her to take the life of a politician, placing him in the garden of a restaurant. It could be due to an infinity of things, but the reason did not matter as much, since it was easy to find a suspect those days, it was only necessary to track his crime coefficient by the area where the crime was committed.

Everything had become so simple and spontaneous that reality sometimes seemed an illusion. Whereas in the past detectives had more relevant roles, nowadays it was enough to have surveillance cameras that could record how rotten people’s mind were. She did not realize that Toma was observing her with a strange smile on her lips, as if the situation were quite amusing to him.

“If he worked that much with the body to transform it into an organic sculpture and exhibit it in the public area, it’s because he’s looking for recognition, to leave a message. Though I’d have chosen a more accessible place, like, I don’t know… a square? In front of the Public Safety Bureau?” Yashiro mused, more to herself. “Can you imagine the reaction of the media?”

Toma slowly squinted, but said nothing. Yashiro realized that it was one of the few times he was seen so solemn. It was unusual for him and somehow, he surprised her. Makishima narrowed his eyes, nodding his head in a deep way. Yashiro, for her part, walked through the room with a peaceful rhythm as if listening to a melody in her mind. She ran her index finger across one of the empty tables, reflecting on her own conclusion.

Her eyes brightened when several images came to her mind, showing her the situation she had exposed. Toma leaned slightly forward as if her thoughts had been captured, and during a brief but penetrating silence, both analyzed each other until Toma decided to continue, shaking his head and letting out a whistle. Makishima seemed more entertaining than ever, and the smile on his lips exerted an almost frenzied momentum.

“What kind of message?” This time it was Toma who was asking.

Yashiro caught the way his lips were left half open, either from surprise or self-absorption. She decided to close her eyes for a moment and saw herself in front of the imposing figure. She studied it with great delicacy, such a painter to his own work of art. Since she was so pretentious and pride ran through every part of her body, decided to place it in a garden where it could be contemplated for many passers-by, without these being aware of reality. It was like making fun of them for their ignorance, but also their innocence. However, it did not end there.

The man who had served her to satiate her pride must have had something that caught her eye. She remembered then what she had seen long ago in the nets. The politician who, with the help of money, had managed to falsify his crime coefficient and was therefore accused of corruption. Many people had criticized him and even created all sorts of gossip about him, especially when he dodged questions from the media saying he did not remember anything.

“Remember now?” Yashiro thought aloud, in a mocking tone of voice.

When she opened her eyes again, she realized that both were watching her with curiosity and enthusiasm. She had the feeling that it was not by chance that they both were there. Shibata Yukimori, the man under that identity, was not a person guided by emotions, by pleasures. He walked on a line that he himself had designed, although she was unaware of its true form. Kozaburo Toma was just the opposite.

“You think he was victim of an ordinary person?” Makishima asked.

Yashiro grimaced in disgust, giving him an indignant look.

“An ordinary person would just throw him into a dark smelly alley. He would kidnap him for money. He would sell his organs,” she paused and walked around again. “For me this person is a perfectionist, with knowledge in surgery and chemistry. He’s not interested in mundane things like money.”

Toma made a gesture of amazement with his lips, exaggerating the dramatic, and exchanged a look with Makishima opening his eyes wider, while the latter responded by frowning for a brief second. Then he returned to Yashiro, and suddenly added, “With that intuition, you might even be a detective someday.”

Toma’s brown eyes were immerse in her, sparkling in a somewhat peculiar way. Yashiro smiled at his joking tone, even though the commentary had become entrenched in her mind like a poisonous vine, and her gaze was fixed on the window. Toma seemed to notice, as he arched an eyebrow slightly amused.

“If given the opportunity, would you work for the Public Safety Bureau?” He asked. 

Yashiro approached a few steps slowly, absorbed by the direction the conversation had taken, to strike him with her eyes. For a few seconds, Toma remained motionless in the same position, without blinking, until he gave up on the reaction of the young woman and let out an innocent and almost childlike smile, which made the mole on his cheek more visible. Yashiro sighed as if she had the responsibility of dealing with a small child, and raised her head for a few moments.

“Sometimes, big changes come from the most unexpected places.”

Toma tilted his head during some seconds, his pupils seemed to have subtly dilated and his body straightened a few inches. She did not notice him tense, but he was quite surprised, perhaps even excited. Makishima, on the other hand, observed her with a growing darkness in his eyes, as if he did not recognize her words and voice. And then Toma succumbed to the sea of laughter that he had been holding in his throat for so long, filling the silence with a strange frenzy that was indescribable for Yashiro.


	17. 16

The analysis office would be in darkness if it were not for the light on the screens, and silence would be almost eerie if it were not for the soft purr of computer cooling. The entire division one was immersed in the places where the victims were found, staring at the data on the screens. On one side was the dismembered body of politician Ryoji Hashida, and on the other, that of a young woman whose identity remained a mystery to them. The city was shaking once again, the news was censored one more time in order to protect the stress level of citizens. But they knew that these were transitory and short-term measures, since the best antidote was to find the person responsible.

“No record. Absolutely nothing. She might be an illegal immigrant or an adolescent who was not included in the census.”

Analyst Karanomori turned in her chair, lighting a cigarette. One of her hands was groping on the desk, an unusual gesture that represented impotence. Her blond wavy hair fell over her face and she arranged it so that it would not keep bothering her eyes. As expected, she had crimson-red lipstick and looked more tired than usual that day. The huge dark circles under her brown eyes, were clear evidence that she had not slept enough. All the analysts had the same emaciated look, and lived on coffee.

“Just like the politician, she was turned into a human specimen. No doubt they have to be related in some way,” Sasayama thought aloud.

Both the enforcer and the analyst were smoking pleasantly, and soon the room was reduced to a large cloud of tobacco. Kougami was standing behind them with a hand on his waist, while the other one was pushing away the smell. The other inspector, Ginoza, seemed unaffected and stood firm with his arms folded, the one who gave the most thought to the matter. He had the withering gaze that he always exposed when he was concentrated and did not want to be interrupted.

“Human specimen. It couldn’t be any clearer,” Masaoka repeated with an ironic smile.

The engineer pointed to Sasayama with her cigarette and turned to the screen, remembering something. Her hands danced on the keyboard at an unintelligible speed, as if suddenly the whole dream had vanished to be replaced by an insatiable enthusiasm. The results of the autopsies were displayed on the screen and Karanomori placed both profiles at the front, side by side, with each victim’s data underneath so they could be compared. For a long time, everyone present remained silent, trying to reach a conclusion.

“Voilà!” Karanomori exclaimed in a seductive French. “After performing the autopsies, I found both bodies were indeed eroded by the same chemical. And that can only mean the two murders have the same culprit behind.”

Sasayama took a few steps forward, approaching Karanamori until he stood right behind her, and bent over some inches to look at the screen very carefully. For a fraction of a second, his lips parted in a dazed expression and the cigarette almost fell out of his mouth.

“Shion, could you show the images of the places where the bodies were found?” The enforcer asked.

The analyst agreed and typed some instructions on the terminal, requiring only a few seconds to show the information, which popped up after a brief minimalist transition. Kougami came a little closer, standing the smell of cigarettes, to try to see with the same eyes as the enforcer. They had a different view of the law, and so were able to comprehend criminals. Although Ginoza had warned him as a friend rather than a co-worker, he could not help but be excessively curious every time they had a similar case. He was walking on fire, and the flames fueled his enthusiasm. Sasayama’s expression changed and he suddenly seemed upset, or even outraged.

“They don’t look like simple murders, they were cut into pieces and then displayed such artworks, as if the killer were saying—”

“You get what you deserve,” Kougami noted.

The enforcer had a lunatic’s gaze and everyone looked at him carefully, without responding. The only one who was interested in his words, besides Karanomori, was Inspector Kougami. An imperceptible smile was drawn on his face, removing the seriousness that made his glance an intimidating look and even aggressive sight for those who did not know him. Ginoza, for his part, just crossed his hands, denoting the same indifference he shared with the enforcers. He seemed to mock Sasayama’s endless creativity in silence, as if he were constantly protecting himself from ending up with the same crime coefficient.

Sasayama gave the inspector a silent glance and held the cigarette with his fingers, completely motionless, until he threw a puff of smoke in his direction. Kougami came up with a slight smile, though he leaned back to try to get the smell out by hand. Ginoza cast an accusing glance at him, fearing that his partner would get too far into the minds of the enforcers. Whenever he met Sasayama, Kougami seemed to be immersed in the way and motives a criminal would end up committing a crime, and he always wanted to enjoy playing cat and mouse.

He had the feeling that he would someday get in trouble for it, but he was willing to take him on the right path. Masaoka, who had been sitting on the couch in silence the whole time, took a hand to his chin and caressed it with a thoughtful look, while still studying the images. The wrinkles on his forehead accentuated as if he were trying to solve a complex puzzle.

“Plastination is not a simple procedure,” Ginoza interrupted placing his glasses over his nose. “Extensive knowledge of pharmacology and chemistry is required. The man we are looking for must be an expert in one of these fields.”

Karanamori fumbled with her fingers on the desk impatiently, looking for an answer that could serve the team. She did not really know how to start the search, because they had nothing. No clues. She was unable to sort through people to find the culprit. The last person to see Ryoji Hashida was apparently a professor at the Ousou Academy, but she had conducted an exhaustive search without finding anyone who shared that profile. Ginoza was scowling, trying to find a reason for the case. Sasayama, on the other hand, stared blankly at the two images on the screen, belonging to the profiles of both victims, as if to inspire himself. 

“It’s going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack,” Masaoka scratched his head.

When students entered the academy’s computer room, they were silent or whispered among themselves when they saw Yashiro involved in both murders. The victim of the second murder was a teenager, but her true identity was unknown. She had been found in a public park by a student who was photographing the grounds, and the condition of her body was quite similar to that of the politician Ryoji Hashida. This time, however, plastination did not come to the fore in the hungry media. Journalists talked about the weather or other irrelevant issues. Everything was too quiet, but Yashiro did not give in.

Students passed by her discovering that she did not stop struggling to make sense of what she was seeing. She read about plastination and was constantly catching up on the research. They had never seen her so concentrated and solemn, and soon the whispers were spreading throughout the academy. There were only some students doing homework or chatting in the room, and as the silence was absolute she was able to continue in the greatest calm. However, nowhere could she find images about the bodies involved, it was as if total censorship had been imposed.

On her screen, there was an image that showed a man no more than thirty years old, with short brown hair, dressed in a black suit. Below, in a smaller typeface, it said Mitsuru Sasayama. She could not stop looking at him, over and over again. A pang of emptiness invaded her chest, but it was gradually replaced by hatred. Her hands trembled slightly on the surface of the table, and when she noticed her behavior began to close all the windows on her screen. For a moment she felt the confused glances of the few students present, but ignored them and breathed in deeply.

“Hello, Yashiro,” a voice behind her back blurted out. “Looks like you’ve been pretty busy.”

Words stuck in her mind like blades and she turned around to find the face of Izumi Hisakawa. For a few eternal seconds she was speechless, stunned by the presence she would have least expected. Then, she slowly drew a cordial smile and surprise dissipated as quickly as it had emerged. Izumi took a brief look around and then leaned back on the adjacent desk, a few inches away from her, with her arms crossed and an indecipherable gaze. She was chewing gum, though she went unnoticed in the way that only she was an expert.

“Within these walls we are disconnected from the outside world. The NONA tower may be on fire and I am here without knowing anything,” Yashiro answered by extending one of her hands.

Izumi’s face lit up with a faint smile, until she could not resist much longer and burst out laughing, as she lost her eyes on the ceiling for a few moments as if she were actually imagining the scene in her mind. A student who was farther away looked up and hissed for her to be quiet, although Izumi made a minor gesture with one of her hands. When she turned to Yashiro, her expression suddenly changed to reflect the greatest paranoia.

“You shouldn’t use the library to research these things. Your room would be better.”

“Why, is Big Brother watching us?” Yashiro asked half joking.

Izumi rolled her eyes as she shook her head. She made a small balloon out of the gum, but she unmade it when she heard the sound of the door opening. A teacher came in to ask something, and when she turned back the way she had come, returning the characteristic silence of the room, she observed Yashiro leaning slightly. 

“You’d be inciting violence. I was suspended a long time ago for doing the same thing, only instead of being discreet as in your case I showed what I found to the others. In other words, I raised the stress level a little, but enough to worry management. I don’t regret, though. Today even a byte of information is worth it,” Izumi confessed in a strange and thoughtful tone. “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

Yashiro leaned back and looked down. Her fingers groped hesitantly over the armrests. She could not stop thinking about her words, those so revealing and surprising. Simply by choosing to see reality she could get in trouble if it affected those around her. When did it come to such extremes? Yashiro was really worried that in the future they would start banning books or works whose content might increase their stress. However, she arched an eyebrow when she realized that it was happening. It had always happened, to be more precise.

Schools were conceived as tools that would make them citizens, adapting them to the rules and customs of the community, and that meant, in turn, that they would keep them away from all those elements that were considered subversive, just as in the past in some countries the printing of _Mein Kampf_ was forbidden. From state schools, where the curriculum was planned by the relevant ministry and could not be changed —unless the teacher was a little mischievous and original— and even private schools, as in the case of Ousou Academy, whose management feared losing its students if the level of stress was compromised.

“Sort of,” Yashiro admitted in a disappointed voice. “All news programs seem to be forbidden to talk about these murders, and what little they did mention was contradictory.”

Izumi released a fleeting laugh, stepping away from the desk to look directly at Yashiro’s screen, as she searched for something in her backpack.

“News programs don’t care about reality. They just want to keep you on the edge of your seat, enjoying their show. Here you are. I think I can give you a hand.”

Izumi took out a black portable disk and connected it to the computer without even asking Yashiro’s permission, though the latter did not mind at all and stepped aside to give her space. Half a minute later she was using a different operating system customized to her liking, which Yashiro was totally unaware of. For her, it was basic Spanish. She had always considered herself a grandmother with technology and one thing she appreciated about Izumi was that she did not make fun of it. She just was not interested. She was aware that each person had their own talents and interests. Yashiro was about to ask full of curiosity what was on the screen, when her answer came forward.

“They can’t censor everything. Here,” Izumi pressed a button and information started to pop up on the screen. “Oh… you don’t even need to look for it. Seems like these murders became very popular on the web. There are even discussion forums… the good thing about this kind of site is that you find multiple opinions. Look at this guy here… he says that hologram instead of attracting people is going to scare them off, because no one will want to go eat at the restaurant with such a view…”

Izumi giggled at the forum’s comment, without realizing that her companion was not amused at all. However, when Izumi looked at her out of the corner of her eye her smile slowly faded, until she cleared her throat to harden her expression. Yashiro shook her head while Izumi put the disk back in her backpack, winking at her.

“You’re welcome. Oh, and when you’re done give it a reboot so the system… so everything is back as before. You don’t need to erase history or anything.”

Yashiro nodded with obvious respect and spread an honest smile on her lips, which stopped her from leaving for a few moments.

“Let me guess,” Yashiro extended her hands. “You’re going to study engineering.”

Izumi’s smile was enough of a statement, even though she did not specify which branch she was interested in and simply walked out of the room without saying more. Yashiro believed that she would have a successful future, though she suspected that she might have hue issues if she continued to visit so often those murky sites of disclosure and debate, where there were users who even approved of certain crimes occurring in society, considering them necessary. Network was extremely wide, like a universe where each star could shine with whatever intensity it wanted.

Her fingers interacted with the keyboard and soon the information she was looking for was displayed on the screen. The image taken by the student in the park appeared instantly. There were hundred, maybe thousands of comments about it, but Yashiro just stared at the exposed figure, the way its skin had been cut away and rearranged. She squinted as she noticed that the skin on her thighs looked like a skirt over her hips. A strange cold caressed her back as a death embrace, and for a few seconds she closed her eyes. Human creativity had no limits. It was so morbid that she did not know what to call it, she was not even able to imagine herself in that place, in front of the corpse.

Her eyes suddenly opened, focusing on the young woman’s face. Something about her caught her attention in an almost sickly way. She felt her heart beating out of control and her thoughts flowing nowhere, running over her with memories that were both indifferent and strangely close. Toma’s face emerged from the depths of her mind, with that carefree smile of life which so characterized him. She saw herself then in an apartment that did not belong to her, holding in her hands an old painting that was nonetheless in perfect condition. The only painting in a lonely apartment.

“It’s my sister,” Toma’s voice rose.

Yashiro knew him. Although he sounded soft there was an implicit discomfort in his eyes, which glowed in a somber way. She did not hesitate to put the painting back on the cabinet with delicacy, suddenly feeling like an intruder. Toma leaned sideways on the furniture with one arm on the wood and stared blankly at the old photograph, in which he was wrapping his arm around the girl, being a little taller than her. He must have been between ten and fifteen years old, while the girl seemed to be much younger. They were so similar in appearance that Yashiro instantly realized they were twins. An honest curiosity flooded her mind and Toma seemed to sense it, as he drew a smirk.

“She died long ago,” he proceeded by squinting, and at Yashiro’s worried gaze extended one of his arms in her direction, gesturing to wait. “Save the words… I know you’re not sorry. You don’t have to feel sorry for someone you don’t even know.”

Yashiro was left with her lips half open. Sometimes Toma’s insight was most disturbing to her, and that was no exception.

“I wasn’t going to pity her, but you. The deceased loved one can no longer feel any pain, but he passes it on to those around him.”

Toma turned his attention to her, and melted in her eyes for almost an entire minute, lifting her into the air and bringing her back to the ground with a deep sight. A soul-filling understanding, and when he returned to the last remembrance of his sister, his gaze seemed to move away from her again, as if he stopped being himself to show, instead, a new horizon.

“Don’t worry. I assure you, Yashiro… that her death didn’t transmit me anything at all.”

Yashiro frowned at his words, but especially at the icy tone used. Although she was excessively curious to know more about his past, chose not to ask about it. She had never seen Toma so far away, as if life had suddenly ceased to have any meaning for him and he were standing there not really knowing what to do. However, Yashiro knew that he was fully aware of himself and his surroundings, and that was what confused her most. His voice seemed to harbor all sorts of underground and secrets, and even though she desired to know them, a part of her refused to, as if for the first time she were suspicious of his presence.

Toma became an echo in her mind, which gradually started to move further and further away till finally vanished altogether. Her head was spinning and she felt a dizziness invading her body, like a current sweeping everything in its path. When she opened her eyes again, found the screen in front of her and the image of the young woman in its center. She could not help but shudder at the sight of her brown eyes staring at her, identical to Toma’s, as well as the whole shape of her face and the color of her hair. Yashiro jumped up, and remembering Izumi’s instructions, rebooted the computer. The screen went back to normal as before, and something inside her prompted her to get out of there.

It was not long before classes were over and she headed to one of the art rooms, staying outside to wait for the students to come out. When they did, many greeted her and asked her how she was doing, to which she merely replied with a grin that she had to ask something about a homework she had left pending. Once they were all gone, Yashiro entered with renewed seriousness, closing the door and surprising the only one present.

The art teacher was keeping a book in his satchel, and when he noticed the newcomer he completely stood up with unbridled interest. He studied her features, the fatigue she allowed herself to show in his presence. She slept less and less and he could see it when she walked to the window, her eyes wide open, like a child who never stops asking her parents questions about everything she saw. At that moment, she seemed to restrain herself to avoid throwing all kinds of questions.

“You cannot fall asleep if you are constantly thinking about what is tormenting you,” Makishima reassured her in a slightly amusing tone.

Yashiro opened and closed her eyelids with unusual intensity. She seemed to be a spectator of distressing images that only unfolded in front of her. The conversation she had held with Toma was still so vivid, that for a moment she felt detached from her surroundings.

“Both dream and reality are what torment me,” Yashiro gibbered.

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Makishima was kind enough to keep quiet when the situation required it and Yashiro was mentally grateful. She did not know what she was doing there, but somehow talking to him calmed her thoughts.

“Is it because of your recent interest in the Specimen Case?” He asked with some cunning.

Yashiro’s eyes shone like the moon as she observed at night. She seemed to be looking for the right words or analyzing whether she could show them to him. It took almost an eternity for her to answer, and when she did, for the first time she expressed deep indignation, as if she were not able to believe her own words, or in fact did not wish to do so.

“The second victim… the girl… it’s her… Toma’s sister,” Yashiro mumbled, looking for the right words. “I know he killed her… as well as the politician Ryoji Hashida.”

If Makishima was surprised, he was excellent at hiding his emotions. She was blaming a person who worked at the same academy for the murder and he did not even seem to realize how serious the situation was. Even though he knew it was a professor he had a close relationship with. She listened to his slow steps, felt the attentive way he watched her. He was a few feet away and remained serene as usual, his head slightly tilted to one side.

“Have you reported him?” He wanted to know, in a mournful and direct way.

Yashiro turned halfway, frowning. The mere idea that Kozaburo Toma was behind the murders did not shock him. He lacked a personal interest in what might happen to him, he only wished to know how she had acted upon such a discovery. It would not surprise her that in reality he had always known the truth. Yashiro exchanged a look and finally shook her head. The darkness that had plagued the man’s face, completely dissolved to make way for the purest curiosity.

“Why not?”

Yashiro swallowed saliva. Toma could not be judged by the Sibyl System. She had always sensed this, but she finally accepted it as a fact. She could perceive that kind of individual because they were different from the others, they had something that separated them from society. A way of thinking and behaving that, no matter how immoral it might be considered, ended up being incompatible with the standards of the Sibyl System. Yashiro was always able to distinguish the person hidden underneath, but she did not recognize its colors or scents, it was inaccessible to her.

When she discovered Rikako Oryo talking to him, she could not help but worry. Kozaburo Toma was unstable, and therefore unpredictable. He was one of those people you should not make enemies with, for as soon as they were disturbed, they would embrace emotions from the depths of their being and when they did so, you could no longer reason with them. She had the feeling that Rikako was letting herself be guided by the wrong star, and would lose the way back home if she walked too far. Yashiro had to send her a signal so that she would turn back. But she knew Rikako and was aware that she would never see it. Like Toma, once she started something she did not stop until it was complete.

“I’m worried about Rikako Oryo,” Yashiro slowly asserted.

The man walked back to one side, taking gentle steps that echoed not only in the room, but in Yashiro’s mind. When he finally stopped his walk, he tilted his head towards her with great insight. Yashiro sensed his words as her own, though she could not avoid feeling a twist from the depths of her heart.

“Each of us is responsible for our own actions, Yashiro.”

The young woman lost her sight in the courtyard again. Her fists were clenched for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the other to notice. She felt her heart start to beat faster, and the silence of the room made her hear the sound of her own breathing. At those moments she no longer found herself able to hold his gaze. For as soon as the amber of his eyes connected with her, a fleeting current of ice and anger invaded her. He had always known, perhaps even before it began. She wondered who or what had fanned the flames. And when she turned to stare at him her eyes denoted, for the first time, a deafening coldness.

“You’re curious to know how it will all end, isn’t it?” She dared to ask.

Although in those instances everything in Yashiro emanated rancor, her voice was soft and slow, as if deep down she were aware that she could not stop what was beyond her reach. The man curved his lips into a mischievous smirk and approached her, putting his hands into his pant pockets. Only then did Yashiro realize how little she really knew him. And that very uncertainty seemed to amuse him even more, as if he were rejoicing in the fact that he was holding her in his hands.

“Aren’t you?”

Yashiro stirred in her place as if the ground were burning. A shudder clouded her entire mind, leaving her in the very nothingness. The warm blood returned. The dominator entered the scene once again, and Rikako’s face stood in the way like a flashing white light. Yashiro closed her eyes tightly as if her life depended on it and turned to the window. Makishima, on the other hand, stood next to her until he was a few inches behind her. When Yashiro dared to break the silence, her voice sounded hesitant and melancholic.

“If anything happens to her…”

Although she could not finish the sentence, Makishima guessed what was going through her mind and went ahead, with a rigid and authoritative tone that shook her from head to toe.

“Rikako will be responsible. Did you force her to take that path? Did you whisper in her ear that you would otherwise kill her?”

And she knew he was right. Rikako Oryo had taken flight of her own free will, though for the moment she was only learning from those who already knew how to fly. She wondered where she wanted to go, whether she had really set a destination or was just absorbing from others. She would have been excited before, but now her journey was beginning to unsettle her. Makishima’s words were like daggers thrust into her back, and she sighed deeply.

“Even so, I couldn’t watch her disappear,” she confessed, swallowing saliva as she opened and closed her eyelids. “I won’t let him this time…”

Yashiro clenched her fists so hard, that it took her a couple of seconds to notice they were shaking slightly. She was submerged in the most primitive and corrosive waters of the human being, both in body and mind, and Makishima seemed to want to stir up its current. What she did not manage to discover, however, was the reason. She refused to believe that it was mere curiosity. Makishima frowned, speechless. Yashiro had shown a part of her that she did not usually reveal in public, barely aware of it. The student who did not meddle emotionally with others, was now tearing herself apart from within, being vulnerable.

“We’re the only ones who can protect her,” he whispered close to her ear. “You must not tell anyone, Yashiro.”

As he tilted his head to look deeply into her eyes, Yashiro’s gaze was lost in the sky, even though she was not observing anything at all. She was aware that she needed him, she could sense that his powers and influences were expanding even outside the academy, but she had the feeling that his interests were focused on something else, not related at all to Rikako’s well-being, and not to hers either. He had no loyalties, and the problem with that type of individual lay in his complex unpredictability.

Makishima’s words sounded too far away, and she only responded with a nod. Then, unexpectedly, she felt the soft touch of a hand on her shoulder. At first, a shudder ran through her entire spine leaving her breathless. But gradually her body began to adapt to such a simple gesture, until she completely relaxed, as if a great weight had been removed from her soul.


	18. 17

The anniversary of the Ousou Academy took place at midnight. Yashiro tried to arrive early, so she did not have to greet everyone. At first there were not many people and she walked around, absorbed by how large and majestic the hall was. When guests started to arrive, Yashiro studied the suits and dresses they wore. Parents were holding each other’s arms and meeting with other relatives to talk, having as their main topic the dairy lives of their daughters, how they were doing with their grades and what they planned to do in the future.

Suddenly, she heard a voice calling her in the distance, until it became closer and she could soon discern among the people the face of Shimotsuki Mika. This time her two best friends —those who always seemed to be by her side— were not there. Otherwise, she was surrounded by four other girls who belonged to her class. When they were in front of her, they stood still and silent as if they had passed into another dimension, while observing her from head to toe. Yashiro was, in truth, one of the few women in the hall who had not attended in a dress. In her case, she wore a two-piece set consisting of a silver pant and blazer that passed around her waist, a white shirt underneath and matching moccasins.

“I thought you were a teacher,” Shimotsuki admitted with a mischievous smile, pausing for a long time. “How I’d love it if there were boys so they could ask me to dance! Don’t you think?”

Yashiro stared at the girl. As always, Shimotsuki Mika was a person who liked to speak out aloud to get attention, even unconsciously. A twinge of discomfort swept through her body, and as she looked back at her companions she felt an innate desire to make up an excuse to leave, even though they were observing her with some enthusiasm and were so close to her like a gang planning an evil deed, although to Yashiro they resembled more a flock of vultures surrounding their prey.

“Why don’t you tell them about Sadao, Yashiro?” A serene voice rose behind her.

Yashiro blinked a couple of times until she finally decided to turn around, facing the inopportune presence. She could not help but observe him in his entirety, since he had a three-piece beige suit that matched the amber of his eyes, the one that studied her keeping every detail, even intimidating her. She had to blink again to stop analyzing his style, and though she did not understand the question, she joined the stream of his words with total naturalness.

“We lived in the same neighborhood,” Yashiro began to narrate, losing her sight high up and closing her eyes for a few moments to swallow saliva. “We were scamming to go out.”

Makishima slowly crossed his arms, while still examining her. The other students listened in rapt attention, like girls at a camp who are overwhelmed by a horror story.

“Tell them about Shinjuku,” he added.

Yashiro arched an eyebrow, not knowing where he was going with that strange interrogation. She could not figure out what he wanted to get out of it, but she went ahead anyway. The situation was a bit funny in her mind, and in those moments she would do anything to get rid of the young girls.

“It was night… there was a bar. People still didn’t go there at that time, and I made friends with the owner’s son, who was a couple of years older than me.”

“What did you do?” Makishima questioned.

“We talked in the alley. I sneezed to give the signal, and Sadao came in. Then I told the lad that I would see him another day, and I went to meet Sadao again.”

A sly and mischievous smile lit up the young man’s lips, though it went unnoticed by the other students.

“What did you do with the money?”

Yashiro giggled softly and shrugged.

“Nothing illegal, really. We went to the movies, to the theater… but when he was upset about me buying books, that’s when I got mad.”

Her companions burst out laughing, and it took almost a whole minute before they managed to contain themselves. One of them continued recounting her own experiences, with somewhat innocent funny anecdotes and other more serious ones that had happened in her childhood. They went on for a long time, confessing things that Yashiro was used to hearing when they were alone, and with the excuse that she was going to look for her classmates, Yashiro bid them farewell. Turning to Makishima she breathed an air of relief, mentally grateful for the interruption. The two walked slowly through the hall, and Yashiro thanked everyone around her for thinking she was just another adult.

“How did you know about Shinjuku?” Yashiro asked looking at him.

Makishima released an enigmatic smile for a few seconds, and stopped to turn slightly in her direction. When Yashiro looked down she noticed that he had extended his left hand, while the other remained hidden behind his back. Her whole body suddenly became paralyzed, but that affectionate gaze encouraged her to play along, and a couple of endless seconds passed before she finally dared to offer her own hand, discovering the warm and soft touch.

“I didn’t,” he confessed.

Yashiro frowned and stared at him with an arched eyebrow, demanding a more coherent response which never came. Instead, Makishima placed his right hand on her waist and his left hand joined Yashiro’s, while she posed hers on his shoulder with some hesitation. When she accompanied his movements, which were slow and to the beat of the music, she did so at first with difficulty, but gradually, with free rein. Makishima bowed his head and broadened a mocking smile. It was the first time Yashiro had ever danced.

“You brought it up,” Yashiro insisted arching an eyebrow.

The splendor of his eyes absorbed her for a few long seconds, and she even wondered if he had planned it all beforehand. Coming from him it did not surprise her.

“It was a lovely story…”

Yashiro allowed herself to smile boldly as she stared into his eyes, and he turned her over with great delicacy, aware that she was not familiar with his expert steps.

“I made it up.”

At that statement, Makishima narrowed his eyes and smirked showing his teeth sideways, with an almost palpable irony as if he had expected the comment. Letting out a peaceful and hypnotizing laugh, he shook his head and analyzed each of her features in depth, as if he needed to memorize them.

“You really don’t waste any time,” a sly voice exclaimed.

They both stopped, directing their attention to the one who had interrupted them. Leaning against one of the pillars was Kozaburo Toma with an empty cup in his hand, his arms crossed. Yashiro rolled her eyes, though the first to part was Makishima himself, who cast a lifeless glance at his partner. The latter went on to observe her more closely, as if examining a picture by his favorite painter. He wore a different style, with a dark brown pants and buttoned vest, a white shirt and a crimson tie.

Yashiro felt the night cooling, but it was her own body that was decreasing in temperature, encouraging her heartbeat. It was the first time that, in exchanging a glance with her social science teacher, she had to make a great effort to respond with the same kindness. Yashiro went right through him, searching for the young man she had known until then, hoping to find the one she thought she knew completely. The only thing she found, however, was a crystal whose reflection denoted an unfathomable abyss.

“If I had known you were here, I would have brought you another drink,” Yashiro joked, drawing a fleeting knowing smile.

Toma released a loud but instantaneous laugh, leaning forward. Yashiro knew he was thirsty, since a simple glass was not enough for him. When he finally managed to restrain himself he stood up again, and connected the gleam of admiration in his eyes with the silvery ones he knew so well. Yashiro held her breath feeling strangely small, as if the gaze was trying to absorb her, to plunge her into the depths, and she came to realize that Makishima kept staring at him with his eyebrows slightly together, as if even he anticipated his thoughts and did not like them.

However, Toma did not have time to make a comment and suddenly raised his head towards the center of the hall, as abruptly as if a person were about to fall in the middle of the crowd, which was the basis of his later laughter. Yashiro turned around in disguise to follow with her gaze what had caught his attention, and Makishima accompanied the movement.

They were able to spot a grown man who Yashiro was slow to recognize at first. He was Abele Altoromagi, an Italian human rights lawyer. Toma had a friendly smile on his face, but she could sense the bitterness building up in his entire mind. The man was grinning as he talked to others his age. Despite the distance you could tell that he was not interested in drawing attention to himself, much less exaggerating his virtues, as they could see in the others.

“Is the daughter that young woman you mention so much?” Makishima finally asked.

Toma was more enthusiastic than usual. Leaning against the pillar, he kept feeling on his legs as if he were following the rhythm of a song in his mind. When he realized the question he simply responded with a nod, implying that he was too immersed in his own thoughts. Makishima turned his attention back to the crowd, studying their movements and the way they behaved, detecting patterns. It must have been a long minute before he saw out of the corner of his eye that his companion was leaving his hands unmoving on his legs, and leaning his entire body forward a few inches.

“It’s her.”

Toma was speechless and immobile, completely lost in the student of his dreams. Yashiro analyzed the way he transformed his whole appearance. It only took a few seconds for a stimulus like Toko Kirino, to ignite an adolescent spirit in him. To Makishima’s surprise, Yashiro realized that Toma had not mentioned to him that he was in love with a student, even though his beloved’s father would not agree with the relationship. It was not right for a teacher to become emotionally involved with a student, especially in an establishment as conservative as Ousou Academy. He must have been totally enraged, and she was beginning to wonder what he would do next.

“Why don’t you go and talk to her?” Yashiro suggested, surprised by the very echo of her voice.

When she looked at him she noticed that, for the first time, Kozaburo Toma seemed nervous. He kept silent and did not stop studying the girl following her every move, the people she was talking to. He was not willing to admit that he did not know exactly what to say to her. Yashiro turned her attention to the girl who was younger than her. Naturally, Toko avoided being surrounded by people. Her hair was long and black, somewhat wavy at the ends. She did not like everyone praising her constantly, although she was always grateful and seemed to be very respectful of comments.

“Just avoid talking about the monotony of the academy and, above all, don’t praise her.”

Both teachers arched an eyebrow and cast a glance at Yashiro. Toma, for his part, ended up giving a satisfied smile as if he were thanking her in silence. Then he moved away from the pillar and made an eternal arm stretch, extending them forward like a cat rising from a deep sleep. He exchanged one last glance with Yashiro and then walked to the center of the hall, where Toko was. Some minutes later, they were able to observe the unusual pair. Miss Kirino seemed to enjoy being with Toma, and her father was not in the hall at the time.

“Will it come to a tragic end like Romeo, or will it succumb to hate?” Makishima asked in a barely audible whisper.

Yashiro watched them dance in the distance, absorbed by the words. She had no time to ponder the meaning as Toko’s father came back on the scene, and this time she could notice a gleam of concern in his eyes as he saw his precious daughter with the social science teacher. The same one he had known since he was just a boy. Yashiro glanced at Makishima quickly, noticing the inexpressiveness on his face.

“When Toma was fourteen years old a charity rescued him from Ogishima, his hometown,” Yashiro explained lowering her voice. “He didn’t exactly take it as a rescue, though. The director of that organization is—”

“Abele Altoromagi.”

Yashiro nodded as she turned her attention back to the crowd. Toma was at that moment conversing with Toko’s father, making kind gestures with his hands for emphasis and displaying one of his biggest smiles. Toko, on the other hand, was talking at a distance with other students her age, although Yashiro noticed that from time to time she would cast a worried look at Toma.

Then the two men walked slowly side by side as if talking business, heading for the second floor. They went up the wide stairs that were upholstered in a dark red, until Yashiro lost sight of them. The image conveyed an immense chill over her body and soul, but she shook it off with a deep sigh. She did not know how long they had remained silent, contemplating the people walk, until Makishima released a soft and guttural laugh as he noticed a family congratulating their daughter, greeting her as if an eternity had passed.

“What’s funny?” Yashiro wanted to know.

Makishima raised his head a few inches, while emitting a victorious and somewhat haughty guttural sound, implying that he had been discovered. When he finally looked at her slowly, he softened his expression by noticing that she frowned eagerly searching for the reason of his distraction. He shook his head, enjoying her uncertainty.

“Can’t imagine you leaving any offspring.”

Yashiro’s eyes glowed in metal as never before, opening slightly as they returned their attention in the distance and she clicked her tongue, searching, in fact, for an excuse to avoid the strange magnetism that such a glance exerted on others. Her lungs filled with air and she nodded with delicacy; as a woman, she knew that responsibility that parents, directly or indirectly, transmitted to their children during adolescence and even adulthood, like a whisper that reminded them of the objective of bringing someone into the world before their death. Although it was more common among women, it was also true of men, especially when they grew older and were not well regarded if they had not yet been parents.

“I once asked a pregnant woman why she made the decision to become a mother,” he began to say with a mournful gleam in his eye. “She looked at me indignantly as if I were asking something unheard of, and when she realized I was serious she answered it was something beautiful and natural. And when I asked her why she thought that she was speechless, until she simply ended with an iconic ‘just because’.”

When she was little she had asked her own mother exactly the same question, and the answers ended up being similar. Yashiro lifted her chin in a fleeting moment when she realized that she had never spoken to a man about it. At the Ousou Academy she only found comfort in Rikako Oryo, while for the rest it was taboo topics, such as death itself, and they never talked about it as if they were embarrassed, in a way, to question what they were used to.

“You try to rationally ground what for many is based on the emotional,” Yashiro replied. “With that utilitarian stance, you are not very different from the Sibyl System.”

Makishima remained silent for a few moments as if the words had stabbed him in some way, a sensation that Yashiro had wanted to provoke. She shared his opinion, but unlike him, she did not despise the decisions of others unless they affected her somehow. Each individual was free to make the right decisions guided by his own interests and tastes, as long as they did not conflict with the freedom of others. Makishima’s gaze was lost on the crowd even though he was focused on her, his eyes narrowed in a solemn and reflective way as if he accepted Yashiro’s words, but still wished to undo them by all means.

“They still believe that their fundamental role in society is to procreate… but they shouldn’t be ashamed to aspire to something different.”

When the party was over, the director of the Ousou Academy said a few words to the guests until he ended by thanking them for coming. After a round of applause from everyone present —with the exception of Makishima and Yashiro, who were further away— they began to head for the exit, while some stayed a little longer to chat or look at the pictures hanging along the wall.

In the center of the hall a group of students surrounded someone, with strangely worried glances as they searched for something around them, with dissimulated caution. Yashiro squinted, discovering that it was Miss Kirino who had become so popular. A brief smile gathered on her face, noticing the discomfort she must have been feeling at the time. She found it certainly adorable. However, when she raised her head to look over the other faces, she connected with Yashiro’s and managed to make the satisfaction she felt disappear.

“Yashiro, did you see Toma?” Toko asked when she got close enough.

She shook her head, admitting to herself that she felt flattered by the confidence she had in her, Toko being a person who did not make friends so quickly. Her voice had sounded hurried and even broken, so Yashiro tilted her head towards her to study the fearful reflection in her eyes. Something caught her attention, but she did not know exactly what it was. And then, she understood. The teacher’s absence had aroused a suspicion within her.

Makishima was several meters away talking to some teachers, but in a brief moment he gave her a sly look. Yashiro arched an eyebrow and avoided it, turning to Toko. Sometimes Makishima’s insight made her uneasy. He seemed to be aware of everything that was happening as if he had eyes and ears everywhere. When the other students began to leave for the courtyard, both imitated the movement and left the hall.

“Wasn’t he with your father?”

Yashiro looked at her out of the corner of her eye as they strolled through the courtyard, noting the way her hands joined and her shoulders fell withered. She had to adapt to her slow and dull rhythm, until Toko proceeded to sit on one of the nearby benches. Yashiro stood with her hands behind her back, eager to hear whatever she had to say. For almost a whole minute she rested with her eyes closed, and when she opened them again she looked up to find Yashiro.

“That is the problem. My father has disappeared.”


	19. 18

Yashiro had watched Toko Kirino closely that morning. She kept arranging her hair or tossing it to the side of her neck, more out of obsession than necessity, and she felt that this was just the beginning. She could not help but go and ask her what was going on, even though she already knew the answer.

“I think… I think it’s my father,” replied the young woman in a trembling tone.

Yashiro had read the nets and kept track of what was happening outside the academy. The girl seemed to be on the verge of collapse, though she had not yet seen the truth with her own eyes. She wanted to cry, yet she did not because she was standing next to her.

“We can confirm this, if you wish.”

That same morning, they left the academy and went to the place where the third victim had been discovered. They were still dressed as they had attended the academy’s anniversary, so they did not look like two students. However, Yashiro felt a responsibility to look over her shoulder every time they passed a busy street, for as soon as Toko concentrated on something else she would easily get lost in the crowd.

A few hours earlier the nets exploded with the same news, and society roared again in a stormy and distressing silence. A sickening terror seemed to invade the streets, as if everyone were taking precautions on their own. When they arrived at the Ueno Imperial Zoo they noticed that it was closed, and could overhear the voice of the police drone in the distance announcing that it was the Public Safety Bureau. The sky began to clear above their heads, in a warm and harmonious dawn.

“We’re late,” Toko complained raising her eyebrows.

When the young woman turned to Yashiro, she realized that she was not there. She looked around in desperation and discovered her companion several meters away, trying to access the establishment from the back. The walls were not very high and you could climb up if you were agile enough, but even so Toko could not believe what she was seeing. Yashiro’s image was quite blurry at that time.

They were out of the academy, which was in itself an irresponsible act, but ignoring the law was something else. Took Kirino ran to her and was petrified, when she saw her managing with some debris to reach the wall and succeed in climbing. Yashiro extended her hand to help her, but she instead felt that her body was not responding to her demands.

“What are you waiting for, Toko? Don’t you want to see the truth with your own eyes?” Yashiro asked in a tempting tone.

Her words ignited in her an enthusiasm, like an energetic heat on a summer afternoon. Her body was reborn with an innate desire to break the rules and go out with something in her hands, however implausible it might be. Seconds passed slowly, and finally, Toko jumped up and came to take her hand, holding on to the wall. Yashiro made a strong move and grabbed her with both hands, until after half a minute, both of them were wrapped in sudden exhaustion from the effort and the shock. Toko was panting like a dog after a long run, while Yashiro seemed to recover more easily.

“This is what I get for skipping gym class,” remarked the younger one with a half-smile.

The zoo was completely empty, and in a way they found it strange to see animals locked up in the concrete jungle. As they passed by, Yashiro observed the transparent and natural gazes of those creatures and imagined herself living like them. They had long ceased to be the enemies of humanity, and were now gathered there as a reminder of the enormous power of the human species. They no longer suffered from hunger, cold or disease, they no longer had to make a spear to protect themselves from a tiger, but even so, when Yashiro passed by them, an impulse slammed into her body and forced her away, out of both respect and suspicion.

“You two! What are you doing here? The whole block is closed,” exclaimed a hoarse and tired voice.

Both of them turned around, absorbed by such an interruption. Yashiro had been so focused on contemplating a raccoon, that she had completely forgotten about the possible presence of guards. The man was young and had the classic garb of a zookeeper. Toko had frozen to death, but Yashiro instantly drew a kind and stunned smile, while looking up at the sky in a helpless gesture.

“At last! We’ve been searching for someone to guide us for a long time,” Yashiro spoke with indignation in her voice, and pointed to Miss Kirino. “Since my friend loves to take pictures, she brought an old camera with her, but she seems to have forgotten it. Could you tell us where the chimpanzee enclosure is located? That’s where we took the last pictures, and when people started to leave we forgot about it.”

The man seemed to hesitate for a moment, but finally scratched his head and showed them the way, repeating that since the area was closed they should leave as soon as possible. Yashiro thanked him with a big smile, apologizing for the inconvenience, and before leaving she promised not to tell anyone about the help. In the end, he was risking being scolded by his boss for letting civilians near the scene. And he might have done so after all, but Yashiro did not care and went ahead with her companion.

They walked for about ten more minutes until they finally arrived. There were no police drones, but they managed to see a tall young man in a suit talking to a shorter one, who was clearly a zookeeper. They were standing in front of the chimpanzee enclosure, analyzing the imposing and desolate figure that had caused so much chaos in the nets. Yashiro squinted, aware that in real life things looked more horrific. She found it hard to believe that this had been exposed by a human being.

She then remembered that Toko was with her, and that she was the daughter of the man who was right there, surrounded by chimpanzees that had chopped him up to eat his insides. When she looked for her, she noticed that she was already heading towards the crime scene, at a slow and idiotic pace as if she could not believe what was in front of her eyes, but even so she was attracted like an insect to the light.

Yashiro grunted inwardly as she lay hidden behind a wall, several meters away. She had become distracted again and Toko was getting into trouble. At first the two men were unaware of her presence, but when the young woman stood in front of the fence, two meters away from them, they stared at her in dismay as if she were a ghost.

The one dressed in black, who seemed to be working for the Public Safety Bureau, rushed towards her and when he was beside her, he stopped in his tracks. Then, Toko turned to him with her face completely red from sobbing, and pounced on his body in a desperate embrace, that to her surprise, the young man received without bothering, as if he had really known her all his life and had expected that reaction. Yashiro frowned and felt her heart stop as she recognized that face, the same one she had studied at the academy for so long. A stream of anger ran through her entire body, and for an instant her hands trembled and closed tightly. 

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s a restricted area, how did you get in?” said the man placing his hands on the shoulders of the younger one.

The voice, grave and harsh, harbored an almost paternal concern and echoed in her mind, as she watched them. Yashiro closed her eyes and breathed deeply, until after some seconds, standing up completely and stretching out her arms, she moved away from the wall and went towards them with a firm step. It took them a while to hear her steps, but when they did they instantly parted, giving her a slight smile like one who enjoys watching two lovebirds from the shadows.

“Who are you?” The enforcer inquired in a threatening tone.

Toko wiped away the tears that covered her cheeks, and avoided looking at the remains of her former father again. Yashiro approached her and gave her a gentle hug, patting her back to try and cheer her up, though she well knew that nothing could repair the damage that had already been done, and no gift could serve as an apology. Death was something unavoidable that no matter how much time passed, remained in the memory of those closest to him.

When Yashiro separated from her companion, she looked at the man slowly. His eyes were dark brown and watched her voraciously, as if despite the gesture she had made for Toko, he still distrusted her presence. His hair was brown and quite short, with a certainly rebellious and somewhat crazy appearance. What bothered her most was his tone of voice, which was so sly, as if he were expressing that his work was of the simplest and most banal kind.

There was a break in which both studied each other, with equally shared suspicion. Yashiro felt a pang of emptiness across her chest, the same one that lately disturbed her every night before she went to sleep, and she had to make a great effort to curve her lips into a nice, polite smile, ignoring the irrational requests of her fists. A force seemed to incline her slightly forward, guiding her to the man, but her will was stronger and she was able to contain her more primitive impulses.

“Yashiro Takahashi,” she introduced herself, without taking any kind of bow.

The young man raised his eyebrows at her name and frowned, with a certain irony on his face. He looked at her with a growing curiosity that left Toko puzzled. The enforcer took a few steps forward and stopped again, standing about three feet away, as if Yashiro’s presence gave off an eerie aura.

“The miracle girl,” he corrected.

Yashiro narrowed her eyes, incredulous. Those words sounded as innocent as funny, and she merely nodded her head, releasing a smirk. A current of anger transformed her appearance for a thousandth of a second and her teeth came out delicately, but she managed to hide them by letting out a breath of tiredness.

“Let’s see if my memory does not fail… Mitsuru Sasayama?” Yashiro mumbled, pretending to make an effort to remember his name.

The enforcer gave off a big smile, showing his teeth like a cat. Neither of them had expected to be recognized by the other, and an uncomfortable silence was created, or at least that way Toko felt it, who could perceive a strange tension in the atmosphere, becoming darker and darker.

“Who could have done such a thing?” The younger one changed the subject.

They both turned their gaze to her, breaking the temporary bubble that had locked them in for an instant. Yashiro looked up, focusing on the scene surrounding the victim. The chimpanzees ran around ignoring that they were being watched, and some remained near the body. Toko could no longer turn around, but she came closer. If it were not for the enclosure being closed, she would have walked until she was in front of the man.

She could not help but arch an eyebrow while studying him. Different parts of his body had been opened and filled with chimpanzee feed and toys. The brain and the internal organs were not in sight, so she assumed they had been removed to make more space for the fillings. Chimpanzees had been feeding on that body partially and the remains must have been in their stomachs.

“It’s your father. Do you know if he had any enemies?” Yashiro gently hinted, receiving head shakes, until an idea crossed her mind and she tilted her head. “Any people with a grudge against him?”

Toko opened her eyes slowly, absorbed by her words. The surprise was such that her thin lips parted, and she seemed to look nowhere in particular. Sasayama leaned in slightly, interested in her reaction.

“Kozaburo Toma,” the younger one blurted out in a whisper, directing all her attention to Yashiro. “He hated him because he knew he would not let him be with me. My father was the head of the charity that got him out of Ogishima… his hometown. During the anniversary of the Ousou Academy… he told me that things would change. But I never thought that he…”

Toko covered her mouth, unable to continue reflecting on the matter, and her face filled with tears again. The enforcer frowned in an exacerbated manner. It was too much information to process, and he was still shocked. Yashiro observed the treetops, the way chimpanzees climbed to feed from a greater height. The Public Safety Bureau had done a better job of closing the area. When the politician was displayed everyone believed he was a hologram, but upon finding out that he was a flesh and blood person, the psycho pass of everyone went up. She wondered if the same thing had happened in that zoo.

“I cannot believe he did such a thing…”

Yashiro’s voice sounded hesitant and broken, as if her own echo were insignificant to her. Her eyes shone with dismay as she turned to her and her lips were left half open, as if she were unable to say anything else. She had trusted that Toma would try to persuade Toko’s father, but she would never have believed that he would be capable of murdering him, as he was the father of his beloved; the only thing he achieved with such an act was to provoke Miss Kirino to hate him for the rest of his life.

When they left the zoo, Sasayama met another man at the entrance of the establishment, who was dressed just like him and looked less decrepit. There were police drones guarding the surroundings, forbidding passage to pedestrians who, in those early hours, were fortunately scarce. Toko watched attentively, feeling vulnerable in that hostile world that was still out of her hands.

“This is all my fault… if I had accompanied my father none of this would have happened,” manifested Toko with a voice that seemed to twist in pain.

Yashiro returned to reality and looked down, studying her for a few seconds. She could feel the guilt inside her, and when she placed a hand on her shoulder the younger one raised her huge and bright eyes.

“You could not have known, Toko…”

“I should have!” Exclaimed the young woman, bringing her hands to her head. “I have known him for as long as I can remember, and yet… how could I have been so blind? My father was always right to distrust him. When he found him in Ogishima he had such a clear hue… even though his mother had been lying dead in bed for who knows when. He must have killed her!”

Yashiro grabbed her by the shoulders with little strength, to gently shake her and force her to look into her eyes. Her face was still red from the incessant crying, but there was a shadow of remorse that seemed to fan her, leading her into the flames of discord. The Miss Kirino she had known was beginning to fade away, and Yashiro was both proud and worried.

“Hey! You are not the only one who trusted him, you know.”

Yashiro’s words awakened something in the mind of Toko, who blinked in silence as if she found it hard to believe, recognizing that she was not a person who expressed her emotions in front of just anyone. Yashiro frowned not knowing where those words had come from, but focused again on her companion, who was already immersed in the members of the Public Safety Bureau.

The two agents seemed to be talking about the new leads they had on the table. Yashiro squinted at the features of the man who was with Sasayama. The black short hair, the gray and authoritarian eyes that yearned for justice. Despite this, he did not convey to her the same aggressiveness as the enforcer. He directed his curious gaze at her and Yashiro held it, feeling an eagerness to discover what he thought about the crime of Abele Altoromagi. However, before he could approach the students, a black car slowly parked in front of the zoo entrance, and two men and a woman got out.

“I can’t… I don’t want to stand idly by while they look for him,” spluttered Toko with clenched fists.

Yashiro arched an eyebrow and refrained from turning in her direction. Something in her voice emanated a deep but powerful emptiness, like a current of air that pushed her towards barbarism and swept everything around her. She did not cease to observe the enforcer as if she longed to follow his example, to be just like him. She was losing her little by little, she was starting to have a personal interest in that case and she could not allow her to be in danger.

“You have already done more than enough,” Yashiro rebuked her with absolute delicacy. “You gave them a clue they might never have found on their own…”

“It’s my father!” Grunted Toko, circling around as she placed both hands on her hip. “If I don’t find Toma first, I’ll never forgive myself…”

Yashiro sighed deeply and nodded. She understood perfectly what she was going through. She knew the abyss into which she had fallen, the very one from which she herself was unable to emerge. That hatred made her both strong and vulnerable at the same time, Yashiro shuddered as she imagined a dominator aiming in the girl’s direction. At that moment, she was so blinded by the mere thought of seeing Toma die that she did not fall back into the danger that it entailed.

“Shion,” one of the agents later spoke through his communicator, while arranging his glasses. “We have a suspect identified as Kozaburo Toma. Run a background check on him and send us his address.”

Yashiro focused on the emitter, whose appearance denoted determination. He walked completely upright and his clothes did not have a single crease or wrinkle. His voice seemed to be controlled as if he were protecting himself from something. The one accompanying him was older and conveyed the opposite. He was a more natural person, humanized in a certain way, and although his robustness made him intimidating, Yashiro did not perceive any kind of threat in him. The only woman among them was very thin, had blue eyes and a look of meaninglessness that seemed to analyze everything around her. Her long straight hair was tied back in a too neat ponytail.

The woman on the other side showed no signs of a criminal record, but was able to tell him where he was. Finally, they organized to go to the Ousou Academy and capture the professor, who was teaching. Yashiro frowned imagining the agents running through the corridors of the academy, shooting at any student in their way as they tried to catch Toma. She could hear the screams echoing throughout the establishment as if she were present right there. She had been so self-absorbed for so long, that she did not notice the agent’s footsteps when he approached both students.

“I am Inspector Nobuchika Ginoza. You two will accompany Inspector Kougami Shinya and the enforcer Mitsuru Sasayama,” he took her back with a rigid voice, pausing for a long time. “You have a lot of explaining to do in your academy. What are students like you doing at the scene?”

The green eyes radiated in a majestic way, and at the same time, completely cold under his glasses. Yashiro observed him inexpressively in the same way, without giving in. There was something about him that disgusted her, and it was much lower than his attitude. She wondered if the other agents would be like him. The short distance, in turn, allowed her to discover that he was very young, even though both his voice and his behavior denoted the opposite.

“You also have a lot to explain with the arrest warrant,” she dared to say, ignoring the question.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that Toko touched her arms, as if the atmosphere had suddenly cooled down. The inspector in front of her even arched an eyebrow and seemed not to have expected that comment, since a darkness flooded his entire face in a culminating way, as if he wanted to disintegrate her at that very moment. However, before she could add anything the enforcer approached them, and Yashiro looked at him slowly.

“Yes, that there is a killer on the loose who is capable of anything and that if we don’t find him someone else will die,” Sasayama snapped at her making sarcastic gestures with his hands.

Yashiro was about to burst out laughing, but she held back with all her might. Instead, she only curled her lips in mockery, while shaking her head.

“Someone always dies,” she rebuked, tilting her head to the opposite side in an exaggerated manner. “Everyone talks about how safety improved, but no one mentions the side effects. The strange cases of suicide, the people who loses everything suddenly just because they are stressed, as can happen with students…”

“Miss Takahashi is right,” voiced Ginoza turning to the enforcer. “We have no proof but mere suppositions, so we must avoid disturbing the psycho pass in the academy.”

Yashiro looked at him again, this time gently. He must have wanted to catch the culprit, but unlike Sasayama, he was not willing to break routine protocols to do so. He was not as impulsive as the other, and his patience was unquestionable. The enforcer, upon hearing these words, raised his head to the sky as if he wanted to let out a roar, but only remained silent, grunting furtively like a teenager who is forbidden a whim. And they immediately set off with their usual procedure.

They traveled in different cars, and Yashiro felt a strange heaviness when silence reigned inside the vehicle. Toko, at her side, was gazing through the glass searching for something to distract her, with her hands together on her thighs. The tears had dried on her cheeks, but the glow in her eyes was evidence of the pain. So much had happened in one day and she was mentally exhausted. It was impressive to her that until then her psycho pass had not become cloudy. She was beginning to wonder how long it would last.

The Ousou Academy, peaceful and solitary, was soon interrupted by the characteristic lights of the police drones that roamed the courtyard from side to side. A curfew was imposed on both students and teachers, and only members of the Public Safety Bureau were allowed to enter or leave. The management of the Ousou Academy was so busy with the news that a teacher behind its walls was suspected of murder, that it did not even bother with the two students who had run away from the establishment. Both more than once. So it did not hesitate to open its door to the authoritarian and imminent presence of Inspector Ginoza. However, they made it very clear that they did not want violence, and asked the agents to try to be as discreet as possible when looking for Kozaburo Toma.

While one of the directors was talking to the two inspectors in the courtyard, Yashiro noticed that Sasayama and Toko had entered the academy without authorization, and grunted inwardly determined to follow them. When she went inside she realized that she had arrived too late, since the corridors were empty, most of the students must have been in their rooms. She had lost track of them, but she knew that they would go after Toma, and if she found him she would find them too.


	20. 19

“Kozaburo Toma?” Sasayama asked aloud.

The two students took a few steps back from the commotion, but somehow felt safer seeing Toko next to the enforcer, so they told him that their teacher had gone to the library and gave him directions. Toko realized that he was no longer a man running through the corridors, but an enforcer blinded by anger and thirst for glory. He longed to have Toma right there, as if he were even willing to beat him up before killing him. When one of the teachers saw them, he stood in the middle of the corridor with a murderous look that even surprised her, and tried to stop Sasayama. He was dressed in a jacket and tie, and both the wrinkles on his face and the gray hair reflected adulthood.

“You said you would be more discreet! You cannot risk the lives of the students!” The old man bellowed.

Sasayama seemed not to hear him and instead pushed the man aside with a force he was not aware of, which made him stagger and fall to the floor. Toko felt her heart racing as if it were about to come out of her chest, but she did not stop running until she finally reached the library. In the center of the room, Professor Toma and a girl with long black hair were sitting in individual chairs. When the steps of Sasayama disturbed the calm of the room, Toko distinguished those amethyst eyes.

Rikako Oryo’s gaze was fixed on hers, but she was drawn into reality as she turned her attention to the enforcer. The dominator in Sasayama’s hands shook her in the chair, and Toko could feel her chest rising and falling uncontrollably. Her hands were clinging to the armrests of the chair as if her life depended on it, and although she did not take her eyes off the gun, Toko had the feeling that she was analyzing all her possible escape routes.

_Crime coefficient is 50. Not a target for enforcement action. The trigger will be locked._

“I don’t understand,” frowned the enforcer as he looked at his dominator. “If he is not the perp, then who is?”

Sasayama gritted his teeth as he saw a proud smirk glowing on Toma’s face, while he stood up slowly and gracefully. The enforcer, however, still had his hands up and kept aiming at him, as if he were completely suspicious of his mere presence, even though it was the Sibyl System itself that had judged him to be innocent.

Then he noticed the silent figure of Rikako, who managed to go unnoticed while sitting in the same position, as if she were a mannequin. The empty look was indecipherable, and at the same time, strangely sinister. Toko anticipated the movement even before Sasayama performed it, and when his hands moved in the direction of Rikako, it took only a few seconds for Toko to advance towards him, lowering his arms with rigorous force.

“What are you doing?” He grumbled.

Sasayama squinted as he looked at her, and in that very moment he caught a fleeting movement out of the corner of his eye. Rikako had stood up to run towards the exit, and when Sasayama tilted his head in her direction she had already left. Toko gave a brief smile of relief as she saw her walk out the door, but dissolved it instantly when he looked back at her, clicking his tongue. His eyes sparkled with a lively fire, but Toko held those flames without being consumed in the process.

“She is just a student! You will trigger the stress level throughout the academy,” she exclaimed gritting her teeth.

It was then that Toma approached both of them. Sasayama noticed the movement instantly, and pulled Toko away with less force than he had used before with the man in the corridor. He aimed at the teacher again with much more impetus, but his index finger remained motionless on the trigger. Toko heard him sighing helplessly. The gun was locked and Toma continued to advance towards him slowly, like a snake rejoicing in front of its prey, until he stopped a meter away. He had an angelic face that bordered on sarcasm, but somehow his presence came to unsettle the enforcer.

“Toko is right,” approved Toma in a malicious and sly voice. “After all, you are looking for the culprit behind those works of art, aren’t you?”

Toko closed her eyes, feeling her heart beating as slowly as if she were about to become unconscious. When she looked at Toma again, she noticed that he was watching her closely, with a cunning smirk on his lips that was barely perceptible under the dim light of the room. It was at that very moment, that a terror took over her mind. She no longer recognized the young man in front of them. Kozaburo Toma disappeared in her memories, and she even began to wonder if he had ever really existed.

“Works of art?” Toko whispered in a trembling voice.

The question remained engraved in the air, and she tilted her head looking for Sasayama’s reaction, who was motionless and lifeless. His face was as solemn as if death had passed in front of his eyes and Toko noticed that he kept looking at Professor Toma, who sensed the tension in the atmosphere and turned to him, with a tranquility that was sickening to her. For a long minute the two exchanged glances, until Sasayama decided to put his dominator away, in a slow and cautious movement.

“The victims were exhibited in wide open spaces, with their bodies perfectly dismembered to be transformed into something new,” explained the enforcer, wrinkling his nose. “But only one person would describe them as works of art… and that is their artist.”

The silence made them shudder once again and Toko felt time stand still. She could almost hear the wall clock in the corner of the room, counting the seconds, announcing the inevitable. When Sasayama lunged at him like a beast trying to punch him in the face, Toma remained calm and knew how to react at the right moment, avoiding the blow. The enforcer’s lips parted, showing his teeth in an almost inhuman grunt. Both struggled like dogs fighting over a bone, and at one point Toma managed to stick a pen into his neck, thus freeing himself from his grip. It was then that Toko returned to reality and blinked as she saw Sasayama fall to his knees.

The enforcer narrowed his eyes and sighed heavily, denoting his difficulty in breathing. Blood began to trickle down through the wound, but Toma left the pen stuck in his skin and took a few steps back. An animal smile danced on the corner of his lips, and Toko finally observed the real Kozaburo Toma, who was panting from exhaustion and excitement. Sasayama, to the surprise of those present, placed his hand on the pen and with a muffled scream he expelled it from his neck, throwing it to the side of the room and leaving scarlet drops on the floor.

Stumbling, he managed to get up again and bring a hopeful smile to Miss Kirino. His eyes were burning like never before. Anger had invaded every inch of his body and it seemed that, in those moments, his only desire was to kill him with his own hands. Instead, Toma went to Toko with sensual and victorious movements, like someone who wins a marathon looking for his reward. The young woman took a few steps back when he tried to hold her hand with great delicacy. Noticing the rejection, Toma stopped short, leaving his arms on either side of his body.

“Don’t you want to run away with me, princess?” Toma asked sweetly.

Toko’s lips trembled for a few seconds, and when she connected her eyes with those brown ones she felt a suffocating embrace across her chest. She did not realize that she had started to hit him in his stomach, over and over again, with a force that more than caused him pain, only outraged the young man. Toko’s face soon turned red with tears and her lips showed a grimace of disgust and hate. If she had any kind of sharp weapon, she would find herself venting all her anger on him without even thinking about how her hue would be darkened. Toma looked like a pinata that did not react to blows, he was lost in himself as he had never been before.

“You killed him!” The young woman repeated incessantly.

Sasayama appeared from behind without being surprised, since Toma turned around just in time to stop his attacks. He was not an expert in martial arts but his reflexes were very well developed, and in those moments the loneliness that invaded him was even stronger than the skill of the enforcer. When Toma took a cutter out of his pocket, he managed to hit Sasayama on the arm, who staggered in pain and fell in front of the first book stack.

Toma began to kick him in the head and stomach with all his strength like a best to his prey, being intercepted by Toko, who took him by the arm making a counter force to move him away. However, he was so blinded by anger that he pushed her violently and continued to deliver more blows. The young woman fell straight to the floor and waved her lips in pain, but he seemed to ignore it or simply did not notice what he had done. When Toma stopped, his heavy breathing was heard throughout the room.

Sasayama did not get up again, and for a few seconds Toko remained on the floor watching his body, which was writhing like a worm. Toma turned around, walked to the opposite side of that big book stack and after some violent kicks, everything fell apart. The sound of the wood hitting the floor made the surface vibrate. In a couple of seconds, the library sank into a blanket of dust and books. Toko’s scream broke the silence, and she threw herself over the books to move them away trying to reach the body of the enforcer.

When Toko finally managed to hold Sasayama’s hand her heart stopped, but she felt his index finger move and a stream of relief swept through every part of her body, bringing out a choked sob. It took almost a whole minute before she finally got up. Her face was still red with tears, and she was not willing to exchange a glance with the being who had caused such a disaster.

He was not human to her, she no longer felt any compassion for him, and she had to make a great effort in order to remain motionless and indifferent when she heard his steps breaking the sepulchral silence of the library. She sensed the presence of the executioner behind her back, but she knew that he would not harm her, he loved her after all, though in a way that was then repulsive to her.

She could feel the manic smirk on her back. Toko was tired of the deaths, of the pain he was causing the victims’ families, of the stress he was promulgating in the academy. The weapon Sasayama used did not seem to work against him, so she could not expect much from the Public Safety Bureau. She had to do something because she knew Toma could harm anyone but her. She had to protect Sasayama.

At that moment, she felt her mouth covered by a piece of cotton and Toma’s body embraced her from behind, trying to knock the air out of her. Toko began to hit him in the arms, in the face, where her hands reached, but even so they did not succeed in freeing her, and little by little she lost her air and the will to escape, as if her body no longer responded to her impulses. Toma, on his part, remained upright and unmoving, as if he were a living corpse.

“We are destined to reign together,” whispered Toma in her ear, as she melted into the darkness.


	21. 20

When Yashiro arrived at the library, she found the room in chaos and dust. The book stacks had fallen over like a domino effect and books were lying everywhere, as if a tornado had come in to tear apart what she had once considered a shrine. She stopped short when her foot hit something, and as she looked down she could see the shape of a dominator. For some moments she was unable to breathe, as if the mere touch transferred to her a deadly poison. Although her mind was telling her to go back where she had come, she searched for a body in pieces and the only thing she found on the floor, were drops of blood as if a fight had broken out.

She continued to examine the room for any trace of human life, until her attention returned to the vivid image of a hand sticking out of the books. For a few seconds Yashiro’s whole body was petrified but an unconscious impulse managed to direct her there, even jumping over some books that were in her way and trying to keep her balance so as not to fall. Then she knelt down and started to push aside the debris, but the figure under that book stack stopped her, being utterly different from what she had actually imagined. It was Sasayama, who had a wound on his neck and a half-deep cut on one of his arms, from which blood was dripping.

Yashiro instantly relaxed her entire body, but felt a chill when a mournful and hoarse moan came from that body and her wrist was suddenly grasped by something solid. Sasayama’s eyes opened wide with a desperation that left her freezing, and were fixed on the silver ones as if announcing that he had returned from the very underworld. A shock of pain stunned his entire body as she tried to lift the book stack, and he winced with his lips. Yashiro raised her hands to indicate that he should stay still, which he desisted in by remaining motionless.

“Toko,” whispered the enforcer while looking around. “He took her away. We got to find her. We got to…”

Yashiro opened her eyes further and her fists twitched on her knees, eager to pounce on that vulnerable neck. Miss Kirino was once again slipping through her fingers. The only one who could bring her back was Sasayama himself, and she hissed to keep silent, seeing that life was slowly returning to his face. The appreciation he felt for Miss Kirino was greater than she had expected and she wondered if the other agents would be like him, since the few she had seen so far turned out to be not very empathetic with the relatives of the victims. Yashiro got up determined to find the inspectors and Sasayama looked at her with a gleam of remorse in his eyes, as if he felt guilty about the kidnapping of Toko.

“Do not move. I will get help,” she urged sharply.

Yashiro ran out of the library, leaving behind the dying body of the enforcer. She leapt down the stairs until she came to a halt when at the end of the corridor, she saw the silhouette of Inspector Kougami, who looked at her with an arched eyebrow. Yashiro raised one of her arms to get his attention, but suddenly a sharp, annoying sound burst through the academy making her skin bristle. She closed her eyes automatically, and when she opened them again she noticed that many students were coming out of their rooms just as confused as she was, but utterly frightened. Kougami started running toward Yashiro, with his hand on his waist, where the dominator was hidden.

“A fire?” One of the students exclaimed in a trembling voice. “What should we do?”

Yashiro felt her heart beating fast. The girls were trying to speak out so they could be heard by the others even though the fire alarm was still sounding over their heads. No fire had ever broken out at Ousou Academy, and neither knew how to react to it. It was the first time they felt in real danger and the adrenaline was getting to all of them equally. The students stepped aside for her to meet with the inspector, as if they unconsciously knew they had the answers.

“Where is Sasayama?” He asked firmly as if the world depended on it.

Yashiro hesitated for some seconds as she observed the obvious concern on his face. He was utterly different from the other inspector, since Kougami was interested in what was happening to his colleagues and was willing to help them. Although Yashiro wondered if there might not be personal issues involved. When Kougami raised his eyebrows demanding information, Yashiro went back to his question and blinked. Impatience welled up in his eyes and it was even intimidating for a few moments.

“In the library,” she blurted out. “He cannot move.”

When the inspector fell into the idea that Sasayama might be injured and in serious trouble, his face briefly paled until it was consumed with rage.

“That fool…!” Kougami said clicking his tongue.

After a few seconds of pure uncertainty, he passed by Yashiro and took the stairs two at a time. Yashiro then looked back at the students and proposed to leave the academy, an idea that everyone else savored to the letter, like a herd seeking salvation. Seemingly they had forgotten the existence of the curfew as soon as it was imposed, in those moments they just wanted to get safe.

The academy courtyard was filled with students who were unaware of the source of their fear, and they turned away in terror at the sight of police drones. Yashiro ran to the artificial fountain and took advantage of the height to look through the crowd, but the face of Miss Oryo was nowhere to be seen and the constant movement made it difficult for her to find it. She opened her lips when she wondered if she was inside the academy and instinctively raised her eyes, directing them to the different windows that were part of the classrooms.

Time stopped for her when she glimpsed a standing figure contemplating the outside in one of the windows. She squinted and ignored her surroundings, until she could finally see that the image belonged to Makishima Shougo. When the latter’s gaze found her, he turned to stare intently at her for a few long and eternal seconds, bowing his head in silent affirmation. Yashiro felt her breath come back to her once more, and was carried away when one of her classmates took her by the forearm, joining her with the others.

It must have taken half an hour for the academy to return to normal, and all students went about their daily routines as if nothing had happened, though Yashiro knew that everyone was talking about the incident and some were even spreading it around the net. Parents were notified of the accident and many of them filed complaints with the institution, demanding more security.

Yashiro was blinded by the flashing lights of the ambulance that illuminated the surrounding space, and observed some academy officials discussing in the courtyard about the fire and the disaster in the library. A destruction whose only witness had been taken to the ambulance, and his body was then resting on a stretcher next to the van. He had temporary bandages on his body and some parts of his clothes were covered in blood, yet he was still breathing.

The fire alarm had been manually turned off and it did not take long until a team arrived to stop the flames, that had actually only spread in the academy kitchen, leaving one cook as the only victim. According to the analysis, there was a gas leak due to carelessness of the staff, but it was not known who had been responsible, and Yashiro had the feeling that they would never find out.

She had to declare to Inspector Ginoza everything that had happened, from the failed pursuit of Sasayama and Toko to the search for the inspectors to ask for help. Then she went to where Sasayama and Inspector Kougami were talking, but when she saw them sharing some kind of confrontation she decided to distance herself, so that she would not attract attention, but at least she would be able to hear what they were saying. Kougami reproached him again and again for having ignored orders, created a scandal in the library that could have been avoided, and especially for being responsible for Kozaburo Toma’s escape by kidnapping a civilian.

“Why would the chief transfer the case to Aoyanagi’s division? Why is she so intent on capturing him alive?” Sasayama questioned, immersed in his own thoughts.

Yashiro was attracted by his exasperated tone, and could understand the outrage. She did not know who he was talking about, except for Toma as the then fugitive, but what struck her most was that they wanted to capture him alive. If the Sibyl System was supposed to be a divine judge, capable of deciding who was good and who was bad in that city, it was not necessary to capture a person alive unless it was to interrogate him for answers. But if no one believed that there were accomplices in that case, why would they want him alive? What did they have in mind to ask him? Curiosity invaded her as if it were music and she sharpened her ears.

“It is not our job to know,” answered Kougami.

Sasayama was still spinning around the matter, and he had every reason to. They had started the case and should close it when they caught the culprits, as they used to do. If they were pushed aside as the initiators, it was because either they did not like the behavior of one of the members of that group, or they did not adapt to the new rules of the game imposed.

“It doesn’t make sense… it’s not funny,” shook Sasayama his head as he looked at the palms of his hands. “If we catch Kozaburo Toma we’ll be closer than ever to finding the mastermind.”

Yashiro felt a stab in her chest. Sasayama was as solid and firm as ever, yet he really surprised her that time. Kougami, on the other hand, looked tired and rolled his eyes for a few moments, until he was focused on him again.

“That theory again?”

Sasayama took a photograph out of his pants pocket, sharply showing it to him as someone who owns the truth and is irritated to share it even with those closest to him. Kougami held it in one of his hands, but barely glanced at it.

“This is the man we’re looking for,” the enforcer suddenly blurted out with an enigmatic impetus. “The true mind behind these crimes.”

Kougami huffed and shook his head, giving him back the small piece of paper. He seemed to be making a great effort to go along with it.

“And what about Kozaburo Toma?” The inspector asked, placing a hand on his hip.

Sasayama tilted his head to the side, making a casual gesture with one of his hands.

“Kozaburo Toma is just another piece of his chessboard. He will find more…”

To Yashiro’s surprise, Kougami burst out laughing loudly as he raised his head. He did not believe a single word of the enforcer, and that lack of confidence disconcerted even her.

“You are too paranoid. Ever since we met Toko Kirino at Ogishima, you became sensible and overprotective of her. Somehow she managed to influence your emotions,” stated Kougami in a tone that expressed disappointment, sighing deeply as if he were making a great effort. “You are off the case.”

Sasayama frowned, more outraged than angry, and pulled out a cigarette. A desolate silence fell as he lit it and placed it in his mouth, and after releasing a long puff of smoke, he turned to his partner with unusual and sudden indifference.

“You sure, Ko?”

His voice sounded dry and certainly arrogant, as if he were rubbing his nose in the fact that he was the best enforcer they had so far, and that they could not catch the culprit so quickly without his presence. He seemed to say in silence that if they took him away from the case, they would no longer be able to use his highly developed sense of smell. They would be adrift, utterly blind, and without a current to push them somewhere.

“I cannot allow an enforcer to work on a case if he does not know how to separate emotion from rationality,” declared Kougami, making a heart-rending echo with his voice.

Yashiro frowned and waved her lips, as if she had witnessed a great explosion in the distance. Sasayama, on the other hand, looked extremely calm and showed no offense; to everyone’s surprise, he left a faint smile on his face. Kougami had turned around to leave, but stopped for a few moments when he heard him behind his back.

“Talking like that you already look like Gino,” he joked in a whisper. “Hey, Ko… I’m going to catch him. I’ll find the truth behind all this. And then we’ll have a beer… that I still owe you.”

Yashiro saw that a brief but flawless smile enlightened Kougami, although it went completely unnoticed, as if he even regretted letting himself be carried away by the words of his partner. As he walked away to join the other inspector, he could easily make out the silhouette of Yashiro on one side, who was observing him walk with her hands in her coat pockets. She was still dressed in the same elegant manner and he allowed himself to stop for a couple of seconds to examine her, even though it was not the right time to do so. He found it hard to remember that she was just another student at that academy, but something about her made him hesitate to take the next step, and he did not realize that he was moving toward where she was until he had her two meters away.

“Yashiro Takahashi?” The inspector was heard to say.

Yashiro looked up a few inches slowly, with a gaze that lacked expression. The young man’s gray eyes opened as they merged with hers. Ever since he saw her with Toko Kirino at the entrance of the zoo a stream of curiosity embraced him completely, filling him with a strange need to talk to her. She looked very different from the first time he had met her, not only in appearance but in her way of acting.

“The miracle girl,” answered Yashiro with a shrug.

Kougami blinked coming to his senses, and for a moment he stopped analyzing her features by closing his eyes.

“I see you met Sasayama,” he assumed with a funny smile, as he simply shook his head. “What a guy… after that night he gave you that nickname. He would not stop talking about you, the only survivor…”

Yashiro clicked her tongue with a half-smile and lost her gaze in the sky. The sun seemed to reflect a sad nostalgia in her pupils and Kougami cleared his throat moving in the place, as he remembered that not so much time had passed. Even though Yashiro was fifteen when the tragedy occurred, memories seemed to remain entrenched in both her body and her mind, and as soon as the subject came up in conversation her whole appearance was transformed, showing for a few seconds the same insecure girl under the body of a woman.

“I can see it fading away in your eyes, Kougami. You are just as confused as Sasayama by the request for capture and your instinct tells you to follow him… to seek the truth with your own eyes… even if you risk falling into the same darkness he is part of… while your more rational side, reminds you of the importance of following orders…”

Kougami observed the slow way her lips closed, transmitting a heartbreaking magic. Her voice sounded so different from the one he had ever heard, that for a moment he thought it was someone else and could not help but arch his eyebrow. He was not sure what shocked him most, whether it was the dominant darkness in that gaze or on the contrary, the sagacity with which she came to discover his innermost thoughts.

“What is it fading away?” He decided to ask.

Kougami folded his arms and scrutinized her with those gray eyes as if she were a mere stranger. It seemed that with those words he had come to take her as someone else, as a young woman who had grown up to destroy any trace of the child she once was. Everything in her emanated an indecipherable aura that in turn, disturbed him in a way that he could not understand, reminding him of the feelings of danger transmitted by the homicide cases that he used to solve. He wondered what Masaoka would say in her presence, as he belonged to the old school and therefore, carried with him a well-developed insight.

“Kougami,” emerged the voice of Inspector Ginoza, who nodded that he needed to talk to him.

Yashiro merely nodded in greeting when Kougami gave her one last look, taking several seconds to leave to follow his colleague. She watched them for a few moments and when they completely disappeared from her sight, she headed for Sasayama. The enforcer was still smoking with the same impetus and dropped to the stretcher to sigh deeply, when he noticed her presence.

“Mastermind?” Yashiro asked softly.

Sasayama looked at her with glass eyes as he inhaled his cigarette smoke. He seemed to be making an enormous effort to answer her, as if at that moment he was no longer interested in anyone but Miss Kirino herself.

“It’s clear that Kozaburo Toma was helped to escape. Police drones all over the courtyard and he magically manages to disappear after the fire alarm goes off.”

Yashiro half-opened her eyes to his insight and was suddenly curious to see how far he would go with that case.

“Are you saying that the fire was not an accident?” She asked arching her eyebrow. “Who would do such a thing?”

A silence fell between them as they found no answer, but Yashiro focused on the photograph Sasayama had among his fingers and when he noticed the gloomy sparkle in her eyes, he handed her the paper. Yashiro took it very carefully, giving the young man a brief look of appreciation. At the back was written a last name and as she turned the paper over she saw the person’s face, which was so blurry that you could not really make out what it looked like. Despite that, she felt for a moment she was running out of air, with her entire heart pressing down on her, and she stayed silent for a long time while she slightly raised her head.

“Makishima,” read Yashiro what was written, making a face of ignorance with her lips as she returned it to him. “I do not know anyone with that last name."

Sasayama studied her for a few moments as if he were searching for something beyond her eyes, but in the end he put the paper in his suit pocket and raised his head to the sky, getting lost in the clous of a sunny day that was coming to an end. Yashiro then allowed herself to breathe out furtively and watched him closely. He was lifeless in those instants, as if he had become a vegetable. Yet he was more awake than ever, and she could see it through his spiteful eyes.

“If we follow the fox, we’ll find its burrow,” asserted the enforcer.

Sasayama’s fists had clenched tightly over the stretcher, and Yashiro watched him tilting her head to the side.

“But you were taken off the case, that means you will be alone…”

Sasayama turned his head toward her arching one eyebrow, utterly amused and full of irony as if he had been told something that made no sense.

“A hound uses its sense of smell to find its prey.”

Yashiro smiled and narrowed her eyes for a moment, until she bowed to his body as if she wanted to be heard only by him.

“I do know how to find Toma,” she confessed in a certainly grim tone.

Sasayama nodded a couple of times until he threw the cigarette on the ground. When he exchanged a look with Yashiro again, he knew then that the two needed each other if they wanted to rescue Toko.


	22. 21

The steps echoed in the desolate calm of the night. The faint lights in the alleyways came from the balconies of some apartments or holographic advertising, but the few sounds that could be heard were from the screens that had been left on, announcing the recent news or the grey rain due to lack of maintenance.

Yashiro took a long look at Sasayama as she walked a few steps behind, studying the neck that no longer bled. What shocked her most was the disinterest he felt in his own life. In those moments, he was more concerned about what might happen to Toko Kirino. She arched an eyebrow until she finally closed her eyes, with a smirk. When she opened them again she noticed the expectant gaze of the young man.

“I was wondering… what motivates you to continue. What is the origin of the enormous responsibility you feel for Toko,” declared Yashiro with caution.

Sasayama said nothing for a few moments, he just stared into her eyes with a transparent expression, as if he were already too far away, lost in his own memory. After some seconds, he shook his head and pulled a cigarette out of his pants. However, when he tried to use his lighter he realized it was empty, and threw it to the floor abruptly showing his teeth. The snap of metal against floor echoed throughout the alley, and Yashiro stopped her walk.

Sasayama looked around until his attention was drawn to an older man who was smoking, sitting next to a garbage can. He had a beard that was several days old and his hair was all over the place. When Yashiro approached, a deep smell of tobacco came up through her nostrils, and she never made such an effort to smile in her life. If she considered that Sasayama smoked too much, that man was a walking chimney.

“Can I borrow your lighter?” The enforcer asked.

The old man looked up slowly as if he had not noticed his presence until then, or if it were the first time someone had caught his attention, and to Yashiro’s surprise, a weak but honest smile lit up his dry, cut lips. Then he took out a worn-out lighter from his jacket pocket and brought it to Sasayama. The skin on his hands was so wrinkled that it was evidence of old age, and his short, uneven nails were a sign of a stress reliever.

“Help yourself, son.”

When Sasayama managed to light the cigarette, he placed it on his lips such an asthmatic whose life depended entirely on an inhaler, and closed his eyes in an almost transcendental ecstasy. Then he brought the packet to Yashiro, waving it in the air to make a cigarette appear, which she shook her head at and putting it away again, thanked the man by returning the lighter. It was only then that his eyes came to life and began to observe her with a flaming and cold vivacity.

“When I was a child my father used to mistreat me, but once I defended myself and he passed out,” mumbled the enforcer in a hoarse voice. “As I thought I had killed him I went to the police and turned myself in, and during rehabilitation I decided to become an enforcer. However, when my father woke up he killed Mari. My younger sister. When I see Toko… I see her. And I don’t want to lose her, you know? If anything happened to her…”

A flash of lighting illuminated the entire alley, but it was her own mind. Yashiro could see her father sitting at the dining room table, with the screen on showing the latest news. She was curious about the black object on the wooden surface, and listened to her elusive footsteps as she walked toward him on tiptoe. The revolver was heavy in her small hands, and in a way she managed to sense that it was something dangerous.

Her features darkened even though a dazed smile lit up her face. When her father noticed her presence, he smirked ironically and placed a hand on her shoulder, taking the weapon to show her what it was made of, how to clean it properly and how to take it in her hands. The voice echoed in her head for a few seconds as he said, _“It is a tool, not a toy”_.

The images were replaced by some of her mother, with those features so sweet that were hard to forget, even for people she passed on the street. One could simply feel safe in her presence, under her warm and angelic arms. She was one of those people who did not need to say a single word, for her actions were capable of expressing and naming things.

Yashiro felt a shudder run through her entire body as memories faded into her mind like ashes, showing her amidst all chaos the face of Miss Rikako Oryo. When everything finally fell apart, she sighed softly and managed to relax her body. Although she was not aware of it, Sasayama could feel the sudden pallor that had hit her entire face, giving her a cadaverous look.

“You will never forget that you were not there when she needed you most,” stated Yashiro with a blank stare.

Sasayama frowned and nodded deeply, implying that it was just what he thought. Despite everything, they had things in common. But when Yashiro realized it, she grimaced with her lips as someone who hears terrible news, and continued walking to avoid the eye contact of the enforcer, who kept looking at her in a different way, strangely warm, like the reunion of friends returning from long journeys.

Before Sasayama could add anything, a popping sound burst into the deaf calm, leaving both of them perplexed. The enforcer was the slowest to react, but when he did, he raised his arm and joined the incoming call, extinguishing all expression. Yashiro turned to look at him. The static image of Inspector Kougami became visible on the hologram, but a silence grew and for almost half a minute, no one said a single word.

“What are you doing, Sasayama?” Kougami finally inquired.

Yashiro’s eyes opened. In spite of the distance, she was able to perceive the tension that was camouflaged under the soft tone of the inspector. She imagined him on the other side, wherever he was in those moments, with the look of death that sometimes characterized him. She noticed him tired, but especially confused, betrayed. Kougami did not understand that to stop Sasayama he would have to shoot him. For his will was no longer directed by the Sibyl System, he himself had finally taken ownership of his actions. Unlike the other agents his gaze was overflowing with motive, and that was what made him impenetrable.

“Kozaburo Toma has Toko,” sentenced Sasayama, letting cold flow into his words. “I got to find her before he hurts her.”

A break again. Yashiro wondered if Toma would be actually willing to harm the person he probably loved most in the world. She did not see it as possible, yet something deep down inside made her feel otherwise. She could see Toko in the center of a conflict, getting involved to protect Sasayama, and at the same time taking the worst hit. The pride of Toma would force him to stay alive at all costs, though he would hate himself forever if he were to harm her.

“You are about to cross a line of no return. Turn around now before it is too late,” warned Kougami.

The inspector was calm, but there was a hint of concern in his words. Something that caught Yashiro’s attention, since she had imagined that inspectors did not care about enforcers. After all, they were latent criminals. Sasayama shook his head, letting shine a faint smile. Then he released the cigarette and threw it on the floor, putting it out with the sole of his shoe. Yashiro raised an eyebrow when Kougami’s voice echoed in her mind.

No one was going to help Sasayama. No agent, inspector. Kozaburo Toma had an arrest warrant and if Sasayama broke his contract with the Sibyl System, his whole life would fall apart. Since he was a latent criminal, he could be discarded as soon as he lost his usefulness or became too worn out. He was a dog with a collar who thought he was free, when in fact he was not. For the illusion would vanish as soon as he stopped obeying the imposed orders.

“I cannot do that,” confessed Sasayama, this time with some pain in his voice. “This case taught me… that law cannot always protect people.”

Yashiro blinked when after a brief gleam in his eyes, the enforcer cut off communication without giving his inspector any explanation, as if the effort came from the depths of his soul. For some eternal seconds he remained motionless in the same position, smoking another cigarette as if searching for a meaning to his existence. When he finally remembered Yashiro’s presence, he nodded forward and they resumed their march, without exchanging a word the rest of the way.

After walking for several minutes at a fast pace, Yashiro stopped in front of a shopping mall, which rose before them like a large gray tomb, housing the old traditions and reflecting the decline of the neighborhood. The enforcer stood beside her and raised his head, contemplating how huge the building was.

“From now on I will go alone. It can be dangerous and I do not want to involve you,” Sasayama maintained.

Yashiro turned in his direction with a raised eyebrow. Her eyes shone like ice under the weak and dim lights, diving into his eyes, as sharp as knives.

“I am in it from the moment I lead Toko to that zoo. I will not give in now…”

Sasayama stretched his neck by placing his hands on his hips, until he finally gave up with a last breath and walked into the building, followed by her. Yashiro looked around, feeling vulnerable and small in the face of the immensity of the environment. The first thing she noticed was the characteristic and unmistakable smell of ramen that took her to another world, to the memory of her mother preparing the broth and to the exquisite flavor it had every time she tasted it.

There were fast food stands with tables outside, various clothing stores and some even of technology. The people surrounding them wandered around with empty eyes and hands in their pockets, hopeless as if they had grown accustomed to their lifestyle and no longer questioned whether there was anything else. She wondered how many of them were latent criminals, individuals who no longer belonged to society, since even therapy could not help them.

“Once Toma told me that he came here often,” argued Yashiro, while observing the people.

Sasayama looked at her sideways and smiled ironically, as he watched the stores that were scattered around the place. The floor was dusty and worn out and when they passed by some garbage containers Yashiro wrinkled her nose, overwhelmed by the smell of dead dog. The other one, on the contrary, seemed not to be aware of it and kept walking, absorbed in himself and at the same time attentive to any possible threat. About three man were smoking in a corner, but they did not even look at them, they remained engrossed in their cigarettes as if their lives depended on it.

“Well, I do not think he is here to buy rice,” confirmed Sasayama making a grimace with his lips. “This block has no security cameras, and also the drones cannot enter.”

Yashiro nodded in silence looking to the same corners he was paying attention to, where it would be appropriate to have security cameras watching. The place was quiet, yet it harbored a strange aura that disturbed them, especially Yashiro. She could sense the cautious glances of the street sellers who passed by, or the owners of the shops that stayed inside with the screens on and the holograms of their windows activated, which were fully ordinary and did not show illegal things as she had expected. However, it did not look like an ordinary shopping mall, and they were as two foreigners whose curiosity bothered the residents.

“We should split up,” proposed Yashiro.

Sasayama raised his eyebrows in complete disgust, but when she pointed out the way she was dressed he watched her from top to bottom until he finally gave in, though not entirely convinced. Yashiro did not look like a student, but rather an ordinary citizen, and at that moment it turned out to be quite useful for she managed to go unnoticed, as if she actually belonged there. Sasayama was the only one dressed in black and wearing a tie, something unusual in a low-income area like that, but his indifferent walk made him one more among the crowd.

Yashiro walked upright and with her hands in her coat pockets. A torrent of cold air made her breathe harder, and for an ephemeral moment she closed her eyes to hear the distant sound of the wind, letting herself be lulled to sleep by its beautiful melody. The corridors widened until she ended up on an escalator, which was stopped and worn out by the passage of time, denoting the number of people who had passed by.

There was no one in that part of the hallway and she decided to go back, in order to look around first or ask someone if they had not seen a student. Ousou Academy’s dress was too conspicuous and extravagant, especially in places as remote from society as that one. However, she heard footsteps behind her in addition to her own, and stopped almost immediately.

“Yashiro? What a pleasant surprise! How did you know I was here?”

Yashiro closed her eyes for a few seconds, not being able to face him as quickly as she had assumed. Despite remembering his witty voice with total clarity, at that point it became incomprehensible. She could imagine him standing there with total simplicity, but the image produced a certain remorse. When at last she gathered the strength to do so, she turned around and raised her head when she found the escalators empty as in the beginning. It was on the second floor, leaning on the railing and with an amusing smile on his face, where Kozaburo Toma was.

“You know what they say: those who talk a lot tend to be more careless with words,” replied Yashiro, with a certain boldness in her voice.

Toma let out a loud laugh that echoed in her ears, and when he finally stopped he squinted at her. His hands clung to the railing with greater strength and he rested on it with his forearms, leaning forward like a cat about to take a leap of death. Silence broke through like a hurricane and they remained in the same position, analyzing each other as if memorizing every detail.

“You are a long way from home… this is not an appropriate place for students. If anything happened to you, I am afraid there will be no one to confirm your presence.”

Yashiro ignored the implied threat and held the same solemn expression, standing firm in her place. She was not going to show herself weak and even less so in front of someone like him. Yet the truth was that a cold snuck up on her, alarming her to that voice. She began to question whether Toma would be actually able to harm her. His feelings for Toko were clear and he would never dare touch her, but she instead was just another student in the crowd, who was even interfering with his plans. The best thing for him would be to get her out of the way, or at least that is what she would do if she was in the same situation. She swallowed saliva before she spoke, clearing her voice.

“How convenient… tell me one thing then. What will you do with Toko once you get rid of me? You know she will hate you for the rest of her life. You murdered her father and nothing can make up for it. You think that with a simple hug she will forget?”

If Yashiro expected to provoke him she had not succeeded, or at least was not visible in his appearance. Toma was still immersed in her, with a look that she found impossible to read as if he were searching for something beyond her words or had not really heard her. His eyes seemed to narrow as they melted into hers and his expression softened with a sweetness full of pride, certainly arrogant.

“If there is one thing we have in common, Yashiro… it is pain. Our mothers died because of the Sibyl System and that is something we will never forget… but you learn to live with it.”

Yashiro grimaced with her lips and for several seconds her teeth popped out. Then she shook her head with her eyes narrowed, and released a slow sigh. Something was growing inside her, but she managed to contain it in some way, and her voice then sounded equally threatening and calm.

“And why don’t you let Toko learn on her own? I’m sure she won’t hesitate to kill you as soon as she gets the chance. It’d be a great show, by the way,” Yashiro extended her arms as she imagined the headline on the news. “The culprit behind the horrific crimes, is found dead with the same modus operandi as his victims.”

Yashiro’s eyes glowed with satisfaction, and it took her a few seconds to come back to reality. When she returned to the brown eyes lowering her arms she realized that her words had left him silent and immovable in his place, as if he had vanished in time.

“Now I understand why Shougo took a liking to you.”

Yashiro kept her lips half open and arched her eyebrow for an ephemeral moment, not knowing how to take that comment. A new smile had formed on Toma's lips, this time with a certain degree of boldness and tenderness. She knew him well enough to realize that in those moments, she did not actually want to know what was going on in his head, and she was about to make a point of it when she heard hurried footsteps behind her back.

"Yashiro!"

Toma looked up, the greatest disappointment returning to his features.

"I see you brought friends," observed Toma, clicking his tongue. "Unexpected, but unwelcome…"

The young woman instantly turned around and found Sasayama. The enforcer had stood motionless and speechless, utterly focused on the irregular shadow cast by Toma's figure on the floor. The latter seemed to recognize him and rolled his eyes, making a disinterested gesture with his hand.

"Ah, if it isn’t the same nosy hunting dog again! I should have aimed at the eye, so you would be dumb and deformed…”

"Where is she?" Sasayama bellowed through his teeth. “I swear if you touch her…”

"Do you mean my princess? Do you really think I would be capable of harming her?" Toma asked as he took one hand to his heart, and suddenly his eyes were wide open. "With beings like you, on the other hand, inquisitors who deal out death in the name of a god like the Sibyl System…”

At that moment, two men came down the escalator and Toma stood up, giving Yashiro one last nod. She could only contemplate him as he turned around, until he disappeared from her line of sight without looking back, as if her presence was then as insignificant to him as that of a worm dancing in the earth. One of Yashiro's eyes narrowed a few millimeters for a fleeting moment, feeling a suffocating hole in the middle of her chest that made it impossible for her to breathe.

The first of the subjects pulled out a gun from his jacket as he approached Sasayama a few meters away, but the latter went ahead and in a fleeting movement, attacked him grabbing him by the wrist and planting his knee in his chest. The man lost his breath on the spot and Sasayama succeeded in taking control, knocking him down and throwing the gun away from him. Everything happened so fast that in a mere blink of an eye, Yashiro observed Sasayama turn around to protect himself from the other man, who was taller and more robust.

When the giant tried to hit him with his fist, Sasayama stopped his forearm and stamped his knuckles on his ribs, causing him to fall backwards as he hit his leg with his own. The moment he touched the ground, he continued to strike him with his foot, until the other man he had knocked down appeared from behind with a knife, releasing an animal grunt that echoed throughout the hall. Sasayama managed to evade him and stab the blade into his neck, and stayed several seconds panting over the body, contemplating the way life abandoned those dark eyes until he heard the cutting sound of multiple shots, and for a fraction of a second he closed his eyes, imagining the pain that never came.

He looked back, discovering the giant he thought he had knocked unconscious with a river of blood flowing through his chest, and a gun he had not been able to use next to him. As he turned forward, his eyes blinked to find the figure of Yashiro standing with her hand raised, aiming in the direction of the man. A few eternal seconds passed until Sasayama finally got up, having to hold on to the floor so as not to fall, either because of the fight he had had or because of how unrealistic the scene in front of him looked.

He addressed Yashiro slowly and without saying a word, raising his hand softly to take away her weapon, like a child trying to caress a rabid dog. She was breathing hard and her pupils were so dilated, that she seemed to have abandoned that world at the moment of pulling the trigger. She kept staring at the red coloring the floor, and Sasayama placed his hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes to try and hold her to reality. He sighed deeply when Yashiro came to her senses, breathing in air like someone who has been locked up for a long time.

To his surprise, the touch and closeness seemed to intoxicate her, since she instantly turned away from him as if in a rage, her hands slightly trembling. Sasayama arched an eyebrow and followed her with his gaze, as she headed for the escalators and began to climb, to reach the second floor of the building. Sasayama dropped the gun leaving it next to one of the bodies, and joined her by climbing the adjacent stairs. He could not help but be curious as he studied her in silence, and took his hand inside his suit to pull out the dominator. Yashiro had not realized that he was aiming at her, and the enforcer frowned at the results.


	23. 22

_Crime coefficient is 80. Not a target for enforcement action. The trigger will be locked._

He squinted as he saw the number slowly but progressively shrinking, though she had just taken a life to save his own. He even thought that she could be a detective. He had never met a student with such a crime coefficient and assumed that she would have ample job offers in the future. Sasayama put the dominator away when he perceived a cold glance from the young woman, and he did not really know if he had been discovered, since she did not say anything and persisted in her walk, until both stopped when they reached the last step.

Sasayama clenched his teeth as he lost track of Toma and began to turn in the same position, looking in different directions. He looked like a lost little boy, desperate to find his mother in such a big place. Yashiro let out a huff when a fleeting memory invaded her mind, and her father’s face became visible once again. She closed her eyes intuitively, but the effort was in vain. There was a girl with the biggest grin, sneaking through the crowd while being watched by an elder. She merely entered into trust with everyone, but never saw the same person twice. She never had the same name again. And yet, it was a simple game to her.

“Are you okay?” Sasayama touched her shoulder, reincorporating her. “We will find her.”

Yashiro shook her head and turned away to continue walking, without looking at him. In one of the fast food stands there was an elderly woman attending, talking to other sellers, and they decided to approach her to ask about Toko’s whereabouts. Sasayama displayed his identification to show her, however she had seen anything suspicious, or at least nothing extremely strange, let alone a student. She seemed to be the kind of old lady who knew even the time her neighbors were asleep, but she could not give them any answers anyway. They went through all the hallways without finding any trace of Toma, until they finally concluded that he could have left the building, so they went back to the street once more and met the people who were coming and going, immersed in their own responsibilities.

“You mentioned earlier that you became an enforcer by choice,” Yashiro suddenly said in a whisper. “How is it possible for a person to want to take on such a role?”

Sasayama turned his head in her direction squinting, as if of all possible questions that was the one he had least expected. He looked forward again, seeking inspiration in the dark and penetrating sky. Yashiro saw him abstracted for the first time, and followed with her gaze the same spot as him. She did not remember looking up to find those beautiful bright points on top, mentioned so many times in digital astronomy books. In the end it was something that was learned by theory, yet never applied in practice. All of her generation, just like her, did not know what a star really looked like.

“Nobody likes to get their hands dirty, but somebody has to.”

Yashiro huffed with a dancing smile on her lips. Sasayama was perhaps one of a kind. She could see a flickering light inside, but Yashiro could not sense its warmth. Her fists closed for a mere moment, just enough not to be noticed by the enforcer, and she narrowed her eyes lost even in the wide sky.

“You accept that the one who pulls the trigger is you, and not the Sibyl System. I wonder… has there ever been, just once, when you questioned your will? Why do I follow such and such an order?” Yashiro pointed at a random person with an open hand. “How does the Sibyl System know that person over there is guilty? How does it distinguish between a murderer and an innocent?”

Sasayama looked at her in astonishment, as if he could not believe her words or were processing them in his mind. He was strangely serious, something that intensified the tension in the air. However, it seemed to Yashiro that he was trying to hold on to something with all his might. She noticed the way his eyes blinked for a fraction of a second, and his lips parted.

“Never thought about it… but does it matter to know?”

Yashiro closed her eyes when she heard him, breathing deeply. She had always been disturbed by the kind of people who, in order to live from day to day, were able to ignore everything around them. They were not in the least interested in finding out why things happened. After all, it was not necessary to know these matters, for the Sibyl System was in charge of granting everything without consideration.

“And why are you here then? Why do you carry a knife in your pocket, knowing that the dominator can do the job for you?”

Sasayama turned around and faced her. His eyes were enveloped in flames and Yashiro could hear the sound of his breathing, but she remained in the same place, undaunted by his presence. And then she knew, from the way his whole body relaxed, that the energy was not directed toward her, but toward the Sibyl System. Yashiro knew the answer, yet desired for the enforcer to accept it of his own free will.

“I always convinced myself that what I was doing was right, and I still want to believe in the effectiveness of the system, but that guy, Kozaburo Toma… will continue to kill as long as he is free. And if the Sibyl System cannot stop him… there is no choice but to go back to the old ways. Unfortunately for him… prisons ceased to exist long ago.”

Yashiro made a firm nod. Toma was not the type of person one could reason with, and he had chosen that path of his own accord.

“Why didn’t you tell the inspectors that he cannot be judged?” Yashiro wanted to know.

Ever since she had heard the conversation he had with Kougami at the academy, while he was at rest, she was struck by the fact that he had remained silent, without revealing to his colleagues the truth of which he had been a spectator in flesh and blood. And when Sasayama immersed himself in the meaning of her question, he brought a cigarette to his lips, exhaling smoke in another direction.

“I don’t want them to go into this abyss. Once your sight is adapted to the darkness, no matter how much you see the light again, your perception will no longer be the same…”

“You believe their hues will be impaired,” Yashiro intercepted him, narrowing her eyes. “Still, I do not agree with you going after him on your own. You want to eliminate a man who can change the destiny of this society, for the fact that he cannot be judged by a system that claims to protect people, means that such a system has no value, and is only based on promises… he is an individual who should be captured to be judged by people, as was the case in ancient times…”

“And who are these judges going to be, Yashiro? Don’t you find it strange that they want to capture him alive? Since when does the chief throw out such an order? No, it seems twice as strange to me: you will call me paranoid, but my sense of smell tells me that, if I give them Kozaburo Toma, I will never see him again. It is like you say: that guy can turn this society upside down and throw away the principles that shape it… there are people who are going to be harmed, and it won’t do them any good if chaos reigns on every corner…”

“But… who would be harmed? Who would benefit from the continued existence of the Sibyl System?”

Yashiro got no response, as Sasayama looked up at something behind her, out of reach, and was drawn to it in a sudden and unexpected way, passing by her as if she were not really there. When Yashiro turned around she found at last what had attracted his attention. It was a girl walking hand in hand with her mother, and at first Yashiro made a dull face. Yet, she noticed that the little girl had a red ribbon around her neck, identical to the one worn by the students at Ousou Academy. And that was not precisely a student block.

“Where did you find that ribbon?” Sasayama questioned.

The mother frowned in confusion and somewhat concern about his presence. Sasayama used to get a little intense when he was searching for something so eagerly, therefore Yashiro went ahead and explained to both the mother and her daughter that there was a student who had been kidnapped and that they were looking for her. Sasayama showed the woman his identification and when she read that he worked for the Public Safety Bureau, she looked at him more relieved and even felt comfortable, completely willing to give them all the information they needed.

Yashiro bent down at the height of the little girl, who was blond and had light brown eyes, and grinned sweetly asking her where she had found that ribbon. The girl showed all her teeth and started running forward, gesturing with her hand to be followed. The enforcer watched in awe how they quickly fell into trust with her, as if they had known her all along. If she had not interfered, they would have hurled all kinds of insults at him.

“Women,” mumbled Sasayama.

They arrived at a more secluded and lonely place, an alleyway through which one could access different departments. The girl guided them to a garbage dumpster and told them that she had found the ribbon on the floor but had not seen anyone, so she took it with her. Sasayama stared at the apartment in front of them, as if he were even willing to set it on fire. Yashiro asked the woman if she knew who lived there, but she replied that it was believed to be a squatted property.

It was quite common in that area and they did not give it much importance. Yashiro, however, did not imagine Toma living there. He was proud enough as to aspire to something better, and could not accept to stay in such a place. But especially, he must not have liked having Toko Kirino in those conditions. She began to wonder if he was running away, looking for a place to hide now that he knew they were after him. She knew Toma, and she did not imagine him on the run.

Sasayama came back to reality as he felt the soft touch of the girl on his arm, and when he turned to the tiny figure, he saw that she was reaching out to give him back the red ribbon that did not belong to her. He was stunned at first as if he had never seen such a small being, and finally, to Yashiro’s surprise, he closed the girl’s hand allowing her to keep it.

Such was the girl’s happiness, that her eyes shone and she threw herself at him with a big hug in the form of gratitude, even though she only reached his waist. Yashiro held back from smiling as she saw Sasayama looking at her as if asking for help, not knowing what to do in such a situation. When the girl separated from him, she returned to her mother and they finally said goodbye, thanking them for the valuable information. For a long minute, Sasayama followed her with a glance while holding the cigarette with his fingers.

As they walked to the apartment’s door, the loud and majestic sound of music reached their ears. The door was closed, and Yashiro was about to comment that there might be someone living inside, when the sharp noise of glass breaking interrupted her, and she frowned as she distinguished Sasayama’s body sneaking through the window, like a thief in the night.

Yashiro did not have time to object to anything, so she just followed along and went in after him, avoiding getting hurt by the glass fragments. They were in a dark, dust-covered dining room, with things in disarray as if they had ransacked the apartment. Sasayama intuitively pulled out his dominator, but stared at it for a few moments as if he found its touch extravagant.

Yashiro walked through the room until she reached the kitchen, which was divided by a table similar to those in bars. On top of it was an old record player, which she kept staring at as a child in a candy store, until Sasayama came over and stopped the music. Everything remained in the most absolute silence, and it was then that Yashiro realized how loud that melody had been, for at last she could hear her own thoughts.

“Toma was always fascinated by Mozart,” remarked Yashiro with a lost look.

Sasayama raised his eyebrows in confusion, and at the same time, suspicion. He found it strange that the young woman knew him to such an extent that she recognized his musical tastes, and began to wonder if there was something she had not told him. However, both looked at each other when a dry noise burst into the beautiful calm, being accompanied by another blow, as if something had fallen on the second floor of the apartment. Then a few desperate steps followed, from someone who seemed to be running.

Sasayama tightened his grip on the dominator’s handle and ran to the stairs, but when Yashiro could reach him she saw that he had been petrified, staring at the figure that had descended as if it were an angel. Toko had a lamp in her hands and in it were small drops of blood, but she was not injured. Sasayama extended his hand to take hers, in an almost unconscious act, as if he had anticipated Toma’s shadow on the second floor, bent and wobbly, while he felt the blood falling from his head, staining his hair and leaving a trace on his skin.

When Sasayama aimed his dominator at him, Toma stood up like a wild creature that is caught in the night and stared at him, curving his lips into a smirk. His hand hid part of his face, but when he put it away he saw the blood on his fingers, and the red seemed to stir something inside him. Sasayama let out a grunt, aware once again that the dominator was useless against him.

Yashiro could perceive the anger absorbing every neuron in his mind, the betrayal causing him a suffocating pain in his chest and blinding his heart. Toma’s hungry look was that of a man who had nothing to lose, but was willing to do anything. A shudder ran down Yashiro’s back, chilling her blood and motivating her to follow Toko, who ran in the opposite direction, toward the back door leading to the yard.

Still, it was the piercing sound of a gunshot, followed by Toko’s desperate cry, that stopped her in her tracks and made her turn around. Sasayama was covering himself behind the wall, the edge of which had a bullet hole in it. Toma did not have good reflexes and grimaced as if he were reminding himself. When he confidently walked down the stairs and the barrel of his gun was within reach of Sasayama, with a speed that seemed a blur, the latter intercepted it in time and a second shot thundered into the room, losing itself on the ceiling. For a few eternal seconds the two remained confronted, longing for death as if they were destined to destroy each other.

Sasayama let out a grunt with a clenching of his teeth and seemed to lose all remaining self-control, since he hit him in the head with his own and the revolver flew away from them. Yashiro looked down and for a brief moment, forgot everything except the small shape of that gun a few steps away from her. Toko shouted and opened the door with a key she had, jumping out, but Yashiro was unable to understand.

She just took the gun, at first with both hands and then with only one. The weight disoriented her a little, as if it took her away from reality and the whole surrounding environment. It was a sudden heat and the smell of fire that woke her up. A path of flames opened up on the sides of the room and when she turned around, she noticed that the exit was blocked. The fire seemed to have originated on the second floor, but Yashiro did not want to stay to find out.

When Sasayama looked around, he freed himself from Toma’s grip and kicked him in the thigh, followed by a sharp, direct blow to his throat. Yashiro saw how Toma instantly backed away, bringing his hands to his neck as if the impact had affected his airway. His eyes were narrowed and he took several seconds to get his bearings, yet by the time he did, Sasayama had already crossed the fire to meet with Toko on the other side, and Yashiro covered her face when the huge dark green curtain of a window came between them, raising the flames and filling the room with smoke. Toma stood up and stared at her, with a strange confusion taking over his features. Then he looked down, discovering that Yashiro had his revolver.

“Are you going to shoot me?” His voice rose.

A smirk danced brazenly on Toma’s lips, who turned to the silvery eyes with an almost supernatural glow. The mere idea of dying was indifferent to him, or perhaps amusing if the executioner was her. Yashiro’s hand trembled as she held the weapon, yet she kept it halfway, as if she were not entirely ready to wield it in the direction of his head. Part of her desired to end it all, and she grimaced as she noticed the way her finger quivered at the trigger. It was at that very moment that a beam of light was projected in front of her, completely surrounding her and bringing her back into the Ousou Academy.


	24. 23

It was the end of the year, and students would gather to celebrate or to visit their families. Most of them were usually picked up in cars and enjoyed dressing up like normal people, without wearing the characteristic uniform of the academy. Yashiro saw herself standing in a classroom, looking out the window at the parents that came and hugged their daughters. The sharp noise of the door opening made her jump in, and turning around she found Kozaburo Toma bent over, with a satchel and a formal jacket hanging over his shoulder.

“Yashiro, you still here? Your family must be looking for you—”

Yashiro’s silent gaze was revealing enough for him to soften his expression, as if he were hearing her thoughts and regretting the comment.

“Oh… I see. In that case, you can spend New Year’s Eve with me. I’m not expecting anyone either.”

Yashiro had found his apartment strange, since it was spotless and empty as if he never really went there. She had imagined it to be a mess, but either he had a manic obsession with cleanliness, or he simply went there to sleep and spent the rest of the day outside, like a tourist. She preferred not to ask about it, though the truth was that curiosity was eating away at her inside. However, what most caught her attention was that there was not a single painting in the entire house. There was no family memento, no trip or photo with friends from when he had graduated.

“I wasn’t expecting visitors, and since every time I enter the kitchen something catches fire, I hope you don’t mind that I ordered food.”

Yashiro heard the echo of her own laughter, which was foreign to her, as if she were unable to recognize herself. Time seemed to accelerate and she felt an imminent dizziness, she could see herself sitting in an armchair with her feet on the armrest, eating French fries while Toma poured himself alcohol in a glass. He was sitting on the floor with his head resting on the couch and his feet stretched out, such an ecstatic teenager after a long party. The small table in between was filled with empty food trays, and silence was almost sickening.

“I don’t like to stay in the same apartment too long, as you may have noticed. It brings back bad memories.”

The sound of a cracking chip resounded throughout the living room, and Yashiro stopped eating to look at him intently, with a brief nod indicating that he could go on.

“When I was little, me and my sister lived in Ogishima. The castle, which was what we called our home, was also a prison, because our mother wouldn’t let us leave. She was so desperate to clear her hue that she started using illegal substances, to the point that… one day she went to sleep and never woke up again,” he let out a hoarse laugh, both melancholy and spiteful, as he stirred the liquid in his glass. “I remember her pale face illuminated by the moonlight, with her weak body under the sheets. I remember feeling nothing, nothing. Only… peace.”

Yashiro watched him for a while, absorbed by the memory that did not affect him at all as if he had been waiting for that death for a long time, planning it in his dreams to get rid of her and be finally free, just like his sister. His words were like an echo, and she remembered her own mother when she looked at her with a fear in her eyes, every time she had a weapon in her little hands. Never before had anyone looked at her in that way, and she could not let go of it. She had to shake her head instinctively until she managed to turn to him.

“How you do it? How you get up every day enduring the same face in the mirror? Knowing that, if someone else were to see that reflection, they would fear it as much as you do. How you move on with people who look at you that way?”

Toma was immersed in himself while contemplating the dark liquid in his glass, but when he heard her he arched an eyebrow and released a gentle laugh, one of those that were full of understanding and as warm as a hug.

“I used to wonder about stuff like that. Part of me thought the problem was me, until I realized something. People look too much, think they know you… but they really don’t know anything at all. In time you’ll get used to it... and it’ll even seem like fun.”

Yashiro blinked with a glow in her eyes, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her soul. It was then that Toma tilted his head toward her and after a few seconds, raised the glass in her direction, to which she responded by curving her lips into a faint smile, while nodding her head. A strange heat overwhelmed all around her, and the smell of burning invaded her nostrils. Then she contemplated the way everything turned to ashes, her body was transformed and life passed in front of her eyes at an almost imperceptible speed, searching for the meaning that would take her back to the present, dragging her in flesh and blood back to reality.

All that time she had been beside the culprit, she had talked and laughed with him so many times. Past images made sense in the vague memory of the conversation she had held with him and Makishima. When she was asked her opinion about the politician’s death, when she proposed different places where a murder could be displayed drawing a lot of attention. Yashiro widened her eyes, remembering that one of the options she had mentioned was a park. The second victim, the unidentified girl, had been found in the same place. She believed that it could be a coincidence, but Toma’s smirk seemed to affirm the opposite.

Yashiro emitted a dull groan, feeling the sweat running down her forehead. She was incapable of pulling the trigger. Toma had a confident, proud look on his face, as if he had anticipated her lack of action from the very beginning. Still, they were interrupted by the scream of Toko, who was calling her with a thin voice not knowing how she was. Yashiro exchanged one last glance with Toma and put the gun down, surprised by the enormous effort she had to make in order to leave that burning apartment, with Toma inside it. The door had been obstructed by fire, but the cracking of glass caught her attention and she guided her gaze to one of the adjacent windows, which was open.

When Yashiro jumped out, Sasayama grabbed her by the wrist preventing her from wobbling, and together they ran to where Toko was, echoing over the puddles of dirty water. An explosion rumbled in their ears and they turned to the beat of its music, contemplating the way the apartment creaked, such a lonely crying, as the smoke rose tinging the sky of a dominant darkness. Yashiro leaned on her knees when a harsh cough invaded her, and for a moment her eyes watered. The smoke had affected her so much that she did not stop until Toko managed to meet them again, and she stood up with some difficulty.

“You got me worried! Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” The youngest started to ask.

Toko put her arms around her without giving her time to react, and Yashiro tilted her head down to look at her, not corresponding to that gesture. Her mind was still caught up in the touch of the trigger next to her fingers. For a few seconds they remained together, but then Toko gently parted as if regretting the welcome. Instead, she continued to study her like a mother who cares for her daughter, searching for every possible trace of struggle without finding anything at all, except her absent and certainly empty countenance.

The somewhat rebellious figure of Sasayama stood in front of Yashiro, and when the latter connected with him she saw the way his eyebrows joined, demanding the truth. He did not transmit anything to her anyway, since her entire body seemed not to belong to her, as if her last reserves of energy had been exhausted and the only thing she wanted to do, at that moment, was to sit on the floor. In spite of the overwhelming heat from the fire, Yashiro could not help but feel a chill all over her body, like a current that made her alert.

“What happened in there?” Sasayama inquired abruptly.

Yashiro passed by them without giving any explanation and walked to nowhere in particular, convincing herself that she had a reason for it. Sasayama took half a step forward and was about to say something, when Toko touched his arm shaking her head, and everything fell into the most ominous silence as they watched Yashiro walk away. She stopped only two meters away, as if the proximity of someone else burned her. It was all over. Kozaburo Toma was dead and society would forget him as fast as he had emerged from the net. He would be remembered only as one of the many annoying buzzes that had been silenced.

Standing on the ledge, all that waited for Yashiro in her mind was an empty space. Part of her persisted in turning back, changing the course of his flight or perhaps depriving him of his wings, and thus avoiding the fall. Even though she knew it was too late, she kept thinking about it. Her nails were stuck in the palm of her hands, yet the pressure that was tearing her chest was much stronger and she could hardly feel it. She hated herself for not being able to let him go, to simply forget him. Her eyes felt warm, but she blinked to wipe them away in a fleeting moment, without breaking down in front of them.

For some strange reason, all those around her ended up disappearing, melting into the darkness, and a part of herself died along with them. Yashiro turned to concentrate on the flames that consumed what had once been an apartment. It was then that, in the mirrors of her mind, she could see Toma as a flickering, blurry memory that was gradually fading away, until at one point it completely vanished, showing her that of a young, straight black-haired woman she knew.

The image gave her renewed strength, and after exhaling air in a choppy manner, Yashiro went slowly to where they were, feeling as if the same gravity was putting pressure on her body and mind. Toko welcomed her with a hopeful smile on her face, as if it had been a long time since they had seen each other. Sasayama, on the other hand, remained cautiously observing the newcomer, such a stranger whose trust he had to earn.

“It seems like it is all over,” stated Yashiro.

“You’re wrong… this has just begun,” refuted Sasayama, frowning and looking at the minor with complicity. “Right, Toko?”

Yashiro looked at each one fiercely, frowning in exaggerated fashion. Toko was smiling full of complacency, yet as soon as Yashiro tilted her head toward her, the vitality in her face withered and was replaced by guilt.

“What is he talking about?” Yashiro demanded to know.

“Toma didn’t do this alone,” explained the enforcer in soft denial. “To begin with, where did he get the resin? He must have had a supplier… and a consultant.”

Yashiro arched an eyebrow and only then turned her head in his direction, as if she had finally noticed his presence and his mere voice exasperated her.

“Consultant?”

This time it was Miss Kirino who stepped forward, at first with some shyness. Her black hair fell wavy forward, and she realized that in the night it shone as if it were enchanted, “Toma didn’t know anything about chemistry.”

Yashiro closed her eyes for a moment, and slowly nodded.

“By this, you mean there were accomplices. Don’t you think for the time being that these are just assumptions?”

“Well… we’ll have to check it out,” asserted Sasayama.

Yashiro squinted as she held his gaze, as if it were enough to make him disappear right there. A current boiled through her body and she raised her head while half opening her lips, stirring in her place without knowing how to really contain herself.

“I won’t let you drag her down with you. You walk a steep path and want to hold on to her, because you know you are alone and no one will come to help you,” grumbled Yashiro as she pointed to him with one of her hands, the same one holding Toma’s revolver. “We’ve already gone too far.”

The enforcer’s eyes narrowed and his fists twitched fleetingly and shakily, masters of a truth they had not wanted to admit before. His cheeks had turned red with anger and Yashiro felt an ecstasy in every inch of her body. She had enjoyed each word from the depths of her being and her eyes slowly opened, with a strange glow in them. Toko was the only one who followed her companion’s movements with her eyes, absorbed by the weapon in her power.

“I remind you that it was you who took her to that zoo and showed her the corpse of her father. You dragged her down with you from the very beginning, and if anything happens to her you are as guilty as I am.”

Yashiro closed her eyes and inhaled air deeply, as if that way she could rejuvenate her soul. Then she observed Miss Kirino from her position, who conveyed to her an indescribable discomfort. They had gone too far. Yashiro was aware that she had endangered Toko’s life from the moment she took her to the zoo, to see the truth about the death of her father. But at the same time, she understood that she herself had made the decision to move on.

“Stop it!” Toko shook the ground, drawing the attention of both. “For a member of the Public Safety Bureau you are too immature, Sasayama. And you, Yashiro… since when do you speak for me? You’re not my mother, so stop taking responsibility for the decisions I make. If I’m here it’s because I wanted to help Sasayama to find the culprits.”

The enforcer and Yashiro exchanged a look of disgust again, until at last they gave in to the words of the minor and stirred in the place, as if closeness revived in them an innate desire to tear themselves apart. Then, Toko sighed and showed them a mobile device she had saved, raising it in the air. Her eyes were fixed on Sasayama’s.

“It’s from Toma. I took it out when he opened the door to the room where I was being held. The phone records it contains could serve as evidence…”

Toko handed him the object with a soft smile on her face and their gaze melted for a fleeting moment, being the owner of a growing sympathy. It was then that Yashiro could see that there was nothing she could do to separate them. She could not protect Toko from the rocky road she had taken, only accompany her. She herself was aware of the danger and was willing to face the consequences, no matter how hard they were. As she watched them Yashiro could not help but smile, a gesture she managed to hide by raising her head to the smoke that covered the entire sky.

_The act is about to conclude, Toma… and I give you the honor of being the one who closes the curtain. But there is still one piece missing… and we shall see its potential soon enough._

Yashiro recognized the voice as an ornithologist upon hearing the song of a goldfinch, and she could imagine him sitting with one leg over the other and a book in his hands, letting himself be carried away by the meaning of its letters. He sounded calmer than usual and managed to convey the same peace, though not to others. When she turned around, she discovered a shadow completely obscuring the face of the enforcer and a glimmer of concern in the eyes of Toko.

“Makishima,” stated Sasayama in a whisper.

He kept staring at the screen of the cell phone, whose voice audio seemed to be recording in his head as a message to be deciphered. The enforcer proceeded to read the messages until he found an address and it was then that he raised his head, only fixing his eyes on Toko’s, who remained silent and waiting. Yashiro gulped and put her hands in her pockets instinctively, clenching her fists tightly.

“What does it mean?” Toko asked with raised eyebrows.

Sasayama, who was still petrified with his eyes wide open in a hunting frenzy, seemed to catch his breath and tilted his head toward her, with a wild and uncontrollable look on his face. Then he raised one of his fists and clenched it tightly in the air, making a grimace that showed all his teeth.

“It means that there is still one victim left,” replied the enforcer, whose hands were slightly shaking and his pupils contained an almost frantic glow. “That son of a… everything is a game to him, and the others are like simple chess pieces.”


	25. 24

Sasayama walked holding the dominator with both hands as they approached the indicated meeting point. The alleyways were dimly lit and the night breeze resembled a mournful hissing sound blowing across her skin, like icy kisses of death. When they crossed the alley, Sasayama suddenly stopped in front of them, and Toko would almost knock him over if she were not aware of his movements. Until then Yashiro had not taken her eyes off her companion, but when she noticed the suspicious posture the enforcer had adopted she could not help but be curious, and looked for what had left him motionless.

Yashiro narrowed her eyes as she studied the slim yet no less formidable figure at the end of the floor, hands resting on the railing and eyes fixed on the front. His white hair fluttered in the wind and gave no sign of having noticed the presence of the newcomers, he seemed to be as absent as if he were a spectator of a dismal appearance. Sasayama came out of the trance he had fallen into, and after shaking his head to adapt his sight to that image, he raised his hands to aim in the direction of the young man.

Yashiro felt her entire body become paralyzed, her heartbeat beginning to sound distant and insignificant as if it did not belong to her. She looked down the barrel of the gun, but the artificial transformation that characterized it never came. She did not know the mechanism, but finally managed to inhale air when she realized that it did not work against him, just like Kozaburo Toma. Somehow, the Sibyl System could not detect his true intentions.

_Crime coefficient is 44. Not a target for enforcement action. The trigger will be locked._

Sasayama clicked his tongue at those words, of which only he was aware. His finger remained on the trigger and what he most desired in the world was to pull it, especially when the man standing several feet away turned to them, with a slightly scowling frown. It was clear that they had the element of surprise on their side, but that subject nevertheless, curved his lips in an amusing smirk as if the unexpected visitors were in truth irrelevant passengers.

“The orchestrator behind the Specimen Case,” sentenced Sasayama with a scowl. “Makishima…”

A paused laughter that seemed to overflow with admiration, coming from the young man, filled the space with a disturbing calm, like the silence of a cloudy afternoon before the storm. Yashiro listened to his steps and followed him with her gaze as he walked to one side, until he stopped and fixed the amber of his eyes on Sasayama again, in an analytical way. He did not seem at all concerned about the fact that he had been discovered, and raised his right hand in front of him in an imposing gesture.

“So you are the enforcer Mitsuru Sasayama… a hound cannot go far alone, it is owned by the Sibyl System,” silence conveyed a supernatural glow in his eyes, as he half opened them to stare at him with an intensity that shook the young women. “If you have broken the chains in order to get here, it means that the Public Safety Bureau did not approve your justice, or they have no leads on me.”

Sasayama stepped forward testing the waters, dominator in hand. With his head tilted slightly to one side, he seemed to examine every movement Makishima made, who despite not showing the same robustness, managed to convey an intimidating aura that harbored all kinds of adversities, and the enforcer had a very good nose for it. He could easily tell the difference between a fox and a rabbit when he saw it with his own eyes, and in those moments, his whole body was tense.

“We know Kozaburo Toma did not commit the crimes alone. It’s just a matter of time before we discover the identity of the one who gave him the tools and created the resin…”

Makishima clicked his tongue and let out a sly chuckle as he walked around, away from them. Sasayama began to lower his hands, tired of waiting for the action of the dominator he was so accustomed to. He was still confused and irritated, unable to fully accept that the Sibyl System would judge that man as innocent. Despite looking so natural there was something about him that kept him alert, and his hunting dog instincts never failed. He was sure that if Masaoka were there, he would react in the same way.

“Fascinating… as perceptive as a detective,” stated Makishima stopping his walk, in order to tilt his head toward him with pride and to exchange, for one thousandth of a second, his gaze with Yashiro. “What criteria do you use to judge someone as a criminal or an innocent? Does the dominator in your hands do it? In an age where the secret to getting inside people’s minds has been discovered, it seems that individual wills are not part of the equation. Nevertheless, when people live constantly adapting to the standards that the Sibyl System oracle imposes, without relying on their own personal desires, do they have any value as human beings?”

Sasayama gritted his teeth and held his breath for a few seconds, without looking away from him. The repugnance overflowed from each of his features, and Yashiro found that he seemed to contain his impulses so as not to pounce on the other at that very moment.

“You’re nothing but a social misfit who envies the happiness of others. That’s what you are. No one’s going to remember you after this, just like Kozaburo Toma. You’ll be ignored by society once again.”

Yashiro raised an eyebrow at Makishima’s soft, ironic chuckle, and as she looked in his direction she saw the way he pointed at the enforcer with his right hand, master of an indescribable complicity. Sasayama on the other hand, let out a huff when he realized that he had something in common with that young man, and could not help but grimace at the mere thought of it.

“You are a latent criminal, a scumbag to this society. You abandoned everything you knew and the only place you could belong to in order to let your instincts take over. And yet no one understands your hatred, no one approves of your sense of justice. You are aware that you are completely alone in this world, but like me, you turn that loneliness into a weapon. And you see… I have a high regard for anyone who is willing to act on his own free will. Now that you know of my existence, I am afraid that I cannot allow you to leave this block. You feel it… don’t you? Someone else’s life is hanging by a thread, and you are the only one holding it up.”

When Makishima looked at Toko, the younger girl closed her lips tightly and gulped. However, Sasayama stood in front of her cutting his line of sight, and clenched his fists hard. Makishima on the other hand, remained immovable in his own satisfaction, contemplating the way Sasayama slowly lost control.

“I won’t let that happen. I’ll discover the truth behind all this, even if I have to…”

The enforcer silenced himself, exchanging a disappointed look with Yashiro. He was aware that he could not control himself, though deep down he longed to capture him alive, to fulfill the role of the detectives. Makishima arched an eyebrow at his flaming words and raised his head a few inches, as if challenging him. His teeth peeked out shily, as white as the shirt he was wearing, and he stifled an imminent laugh to deign to shine a twisted smile instead.

“Justice by one’s own hand is not the way of an enforcer.”

Sasayama slowly put the dominator away again and paused for a long time, until he finally let out a sigh full of irony.

“No… but that of a latent criminal is.”

In the blink of an eye, Sasayama approached Makishima as a tiger to its prey. The latter remained cautious like a cat about to jump, as if time had stopped and he was no longer able to hear the animal roar of the enforcer, but then, with an agility that disconcerted Yashiro, he stopped his attacks and responded with the same ferocity, joining the dance with expert and elegant steps.

When Sasayama moved to his face, the albino blocked his movement and turned on himself, landing his knee on his chest and leaning to the side to knock him down. A smirk of surprise was drawn on his lips as he could not stomp his face, since the enforcer slid to his feet and kicked him again. Makishima deflected him once more, and came close to strike him on the cheek, followed by another on his knee. Sasayama planted one of them on the floor and it was then that his opponent grabbed him by the head, hitting him again in the face with his leg.

The enforcer’s nose was covered with a red that seemed to shine under the moonlight, and for some seconds his sight became blurred. Makishima ran toward him, but took a few steps back when he tried to kick him on his ankle and make several punches with his fist, which he immediately stopped, taking him by the arm and turning to raise him on his shoulders, until he threw him strongly toward the railing. For a few seconds he stood in the same position like a sculpture of ecstasy, admiring the grimace of pain on the enforcer’s lips.

Yashiro could not help but contemplate the lethality of such a martial art that both seemed to share and she barely noticed Toko’s scream, which made Makishima spin. Still, when the younger one tried to approach them to intervene, Yashiro held her by both arms having to use opposing forces, to prevent her from entering a conflict that both knew she could not resolve on her own.

It was at this point that Sasayama staggered to his feet and began to run toward him, but Yashiro’s blink urged Makishima to react in time, who clutched his wrist by standing next to him and hit him in the throat with his elbow, though he did not let go and instead, forced his neck to push him backwards with his own weight. A cynical smirk brightened his face and for a moment Yashiro felt a strange feeling as she tried to recognize the man who was as bloodthirsty as the enforcer; two beasts about to tear each other apart. Sasayama extended his leg in the air to push him away, and jumped up to resume the fight.

With an angry impulse, the enforcer managed to push him forward, yet once again he was caught by surprise, and Makishima took all sorts of kicks and punches to take the lead. Sasayama failed to dodge one of them, and in a matter of seconds he was knocked down. However, Makishima kept hitting him over and over again, filling his face with a dark red until he finally stopped his action, kneeling next to the body of the enforcer, utterly panting and out of it.

For some eternal seconds he remained motionless, with a lost look; his chest went up and down uncontrollably, until a smile brought his pale face to life and he stood up. Sasayama allowed himself to cough and Toko breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that despite the bleeding he tried to get up, at first with his healthy leg and staggering in the process, until he managed to stand up almost completely. His eyes were squinting and his whole body was trembling with pain.

When Makishima looked at him he did so with feigned compassion, as if he were a stray dog to whom a bone had to be thrown. He stood a few feet away and began walking around as if giving him time to recover, while he stretched out his fingers and opened and closed his fists. Yashiro then understood that he was playing with him. He caused him to lose control pushing him to his limits, only to have him torn to pieces. She blinked when Makishima showed the vivid reflection of a sharp barber’s blade, as it unfurled from its hilt.

“Yashiro… take Toko and inform the Public Safety Bureau,” the enforcer incorporated her in a whisper.

Yashiro exchanged a glance with him, saw the shadow of doubt on his face as he pulled out his own combat knife. Sasayama bowed his head while looking into her eyes, placing all his trust in the older of the two students. Shocked by the gesture, it took Yashiro a few seconds to nod her head in compliance with what seemed more like a plea than an order. She could glimpse an overwhelming flash in his eyes, something that was not common for disinterested people like Mitsuru Sasayama, and she knew that the opportunity to get Toko away from the conflict was something she had to take advantage of as soon as possible.

Yashiro grabbed Miss Kirino by the wrist ignoring her refusals, and began to run down the alley leaving behind the two men, who confronted each other again with renewed zeal. The silence of the night was absolute, only interrupted by the sound of their shoes over the puddles of dirty water. Neither was aware of the time they had been running until Toko suddenly broke loose from her grip, unable to keep up. Yashiro recovered faster and felt her heartbeat again. Toko, on the other hand, leaned on her knees for a full minute and when she finally managed to calm down, she stood up and started to walk forward, looking around as if she were lost and searching for her way back home.

“Sasayama was right,” declared Toko with her gaze fixed on the wall. “We have to tell the bureau everything… Toma, Makishima, Rikako…”

Yashiro felt time running out, and an uneasy discomfort invaded her whole body. The mention of her partner had come to paralyze her and a sickening terror took over her mind, turning her into a child again.

“Rikako?”

Toko raised her head and opened her eyes wider, without daring to face her. Yashiro’s tone expressed the purest exasperation, yet especially, pain. She needed the answers she had found, even though she knew she would not like to hear them.

“She was involved from the very beginning. I heard her talking to Toma about plastination and the new materials that were granted to them… I even saw her going with him to places farther away from the academy.”

Yashiro remained silent for a few seconds, feeling like a little girl who is learning to speak, and that formulating each word is a great odyssey for her.

“Such as?”

Toko seemed to hesitate and did not respond at the time, either to remember or because the abruptness of the older one had been unexpected and strangely icy, as if suddenly her voice were that of someone outside herself.

“Near the boundaries there is a large gate… with a panel on the left. She has a device that authorizes her to enter. I’m sorry… you were very close, weren’t you?”

Yashiro’s breath, calm and constant so far, began to be agitated for her words being interrupted by some brief shuddering sighs, as if she harbored the imperturbable passage of an illness within her. It must have been half a minute before Toko heard some slow steps behind her, which stopped at times as if walking a few feet were a long journey, until she felt Yashiro’s presence too close and a funeral silence divided them both.

When Toko was about to turn around, it was too late. She began to squirm as she felt an arm wrapped around her neck tightly, to the point where she was unable to breathe. Her hands searched for the person responsible as a shot in the dark, but they only managed to hit its face over and over again, perceiving the soft skin and straight hair between her fingers. She felt like a helpless animal whose anger clouded her mind, forcing her to seek a way out as best as she could.

Her heart was beating so fast that she could feel it in the middle of her chest, and seconds passed at an imperceptible speed for her. Less and less energy was driving her to survive and she felt her sight slowly darkening, her arms and legs no longer responding, exhausted by the effort. Until at a precise moment, her entire body became motionless like a corpse, and the last thing she could see embracing her was a cold and immense darkness.


	26. 25

Steps echoed in the stressful monotony of night, and when the shadow of the stranger was cast beside Yashiro, the latter instinctively gave him a threatening look, receiving raised hands that indicated she would not be harmed. Still, she could see that he was carrying a gun on his waist, just below the black trench coat. The subject was tall and athletic, though his features were cordial instead. Despite being rebuked by Yashiro’s furious glance, he remained calm and silent, connecting the green of his eyes with those of the young woman, in such an understandable way that he even softened her expression. 

Yashiro looked down. The head of Miss Kirino rested on her thighs like a sweet angel, with her eyes closed. She removed a black tuft from her face, placing it behind her ear with an almost motherly delicacy. The man took some steps forward cautiously as if asking for permission, and knelt down beside her bringing a hand toward the neck of the young girl, in order to check her vital signs. Yashiro was so far away that she did not even notice.

“Makishima asked me to escort you, and that is what I will do,” declared the subject with a deep but no less warm voice.

Yashiro arched an eyebrow and returned to reality just in time, to discover that the man was standing with the body of Toko in his arms. She found the scene surreal and distant as if she were a mere spectator, yet she managed to imitate the movement and follow him closely, though she had to make a great effort to keep herself up, for her entire body weighed her down and a huge dizziness had taken over her senses. At no time did she look away from the fragile body of the girl, though something told her she was in good hands.

They arrived at a desolate and dark street where a van and another car were waiting for them. There were three men talking, and as they turned toward them, Yashiro felt a shudder run down her whole back as she glimpsed the white hair of Makishima. However, it was the other man accompanying him who came up to them, and Yashiro stopped almost unconsciously when she noticed that she herself had become the center of attention. The man pointed at her showing off all his yellowish teeth, and pulled his black hair back to get a better look at her.

“You… you were the one who killed Hideaki,” snapped the subject clicking his tongue.

Yashiro closed her eyes when the sound of a shot broke her mind, showing her the robust body of the one who had attacked Sasayama, with a bullet hole in his chest, from which blood was gushing. She was not even able to perceive the breath of alcohol emanating from that young man, who had grabbed her by the neck with a beastly force until he hit her against the wall. The pain in the back of her neck was devastating and yet, her hands did not seek for a way to defend themselves. She did not feel the solidity of his gun’s barrel on her cheek, even though when she opened her eyes she looked at it in silence.

To her surprise, the characteristic sound never reached her ears, and suddenly the young man was pushed back by Makishima himself, who grabbed him by his black jacket and made him turn around. The subject tried to shoot, but the gun flew out of the air and as soon as he clicked his tongue, he was greeted by a kick in the chest that knocked him against the wall and made him bounce, as if he were a tennis ball. Makishima turned on himself leaning forward, and with renewed vigor kicked him again in the face, which instantly turned dark crimson. The man spat on the floor and when he stood up again, Makishima sank his skull into the wall, stretching his hands as he saw his body collapse like stone.

Yashiro had stepped aside as soon as the conflict began, and was breathing heavily as she felt her neck. She could distinguish the light skin of the aggressor on the pavement, and in front of him the enigmatic figure of Makishima. His knuckles were stained with blood, as was his white shirt and part of the cuffs of his jacket. Yashiro’s eyes opened suspiciously, her lips remained slightly parted, unmoving in front of him and still, when Makishima took a few steps in her direction, denoting the glow of sweat on his face and neck, Yashiro did not move from her place.

“I am sorry you had to endure this insolence, Yashiro,” stated Makishima with a voice still shaken by the effort. “Cattle will always be cattle in the eyes of a farmer…”

For some seconds they exchanged glances, until he revealed an indecipherable gleam in his eyes that the only thing it conveyed to Yashiro at that moment, was an extravagant sense of isolation. It reminded her of the transparent, smooth gaze of Mitsuru Sasayama, as he completed one of his many jobs. To the fleeting and ephemeral glow on Toma’s empty face, the day he confessed the death of his mother. A few cold drops fell on the tip of her nose and Yashiro looked up to the sky, noticing the drizzle that gradually increased in intensity, soaking her entire body.

“Even if his own hand is the one feeding and providing shelter,” complemented Yashiro in a barely audible whisper.

Makishima took several seconds to process her words, and when he did so, he was slowly illuminated by an authentic smile on his face, like a warm and spontaneous dawn. She did not know how long they had been standing there watching each other, but Yashiro arched an eyebrow as she heard the echo of her own steps on the pavement, while moving toward the vehicles to join the other men, who did not care at all about the death of one of their companions. Makishima, on the other hand, persisted in his stance for a few moments while contemplating her walk.

Yashiro stopped some meters away from the van and tilted her head toward its trunk, which was then closed. Her eyes slowly narrowed as if life had abandoned her consciousness, and she had to force herself to keep walking to get to the subject that had carried Toko, who gently opened the car door for her despite the threatening look that her iron eyes exposed. Yashiro just got in and sat down when she saw a nod from the man, whose skin under the eyes seemed to wrinkle with a placidity that reminded her of her mother. Her legs thanked the long-awaited calm for a long time, and she could finally relax a little, resting her head on the back of the seat.

“I never imagined that Miss Kirino would resist,” remarked Makishima next to the big man.

With arms crossed, he enjoyed the raindrops and ignored the fresh wind that had risen.

“She was unconscious when I found her.”

Makishima tilted his head toward the passenger seat, where Yashiro was sitting with her eyes closed prey to a dismal and sickening self-absorption. She could not hear them from the inside, and watched her for a while. Even though he did not usually drive because he preferred someone else to do it for him, that night he felt an irrational interest in doing so.

“Proceed with the arrangement,” ordered Makishima, heading for the car. “And make sure you deliver the package in good condition, Katsu.”

Katsumoto’s crooked smile indicated that he could be trusted. He was no fool, and possessed the gift of knowing when to speak and when not to, which is why Makishima considered that he could count on him in cases of utmost importance. He was a loyal and faithful soldier, though a double-edged sword, for he could turn against him if he touched his daughter. That was the only weakness he had found in him until then. The others, on the other hand, turned out to be mere packs of dogs that could simply be bought. They lacked motives to do something different and meaningful. They were dispensable and replaceable tokens to him.

When he got into the car and started the engine, Makishima drove slowly so as not to attract attention, though the truth was that at those hours there was no one on the street. He wondered where the other enforcers and inspectors of the Public Safety Bureau would be. A bold smile danced over the corner of his lips, but it faded away when he noticed from the corner of his eye that Yashiro leaned her elbow against the door, bringing her hand to her head as she lost her sight outside. As he contemplated her, he could not help but be lulled to sleep by the enigmatic magnetism her entire being emitted, with Yashiro as the only one who was not aware of it.

“I didn’t want her to get involved,” she whispered in a husky voice from beyond the grave. “I tried to keep her out of this mess, but I could only… only watch her go down.”

Makishima tilted his head in her direction for a few moments. A glint in her eyes threatened to drown her, and he frowned as she fleetingly took one of her hands to her eyes. She still did no trust him enough to show herself so vulnerable, something she always tried to avoid. The effort she must have been making was enormous, and Makishima respected her for it. However, he could not see her regretting her actions, he wished that she would learn not to look back, only forward.

“You can’t foresee everything, Yashiro. The human mind isn’t something that simple. A machine has defined the different conditions to follow according to the problem to be solved, but a mind is unpredictable… you can’t know for sure how it’s going to react: if it will succumb to fear or on the contrary, it will desire revenge…”

There was a long pause where everyone was immersed in their own thoughts. However, Makishima knew that he had been listened to carefully. Yashiro kept staring at the outside, as if searching for answers in the monotony of the suburbs, but she was concentrated on his words.

“What will happen to her?” Yashiro finally asked.

Makishima sighed deeply. Somehow he could sense that she would ask something like that, yet at least her voice was not as broken as before, but rather determined.

“We can’t let her talk.”

Yashiro clenched her fist tightly over her leg, and at no time did she turn to him. She was unable to make sure that he was at her side. It was as if she did not really want to recognize him.

“We can convince her…”

Makishima narrowed his eyes looking straight ahead. Yashiro still could not let her go. She was chained to her, a mere student, and squirming with guilt inside, something Makishima could not and would not tolerate. Suddenly, his entire face darkened as if he had received the worst of news, one that incited him to violence.

“I see you haven’t taken into account Machiavelli’s lessons, Yashiro. Especially, when he claimed that, _‘men ought either to be well treated or crushed because they can revenge themselves of lighter injuries, but of more serious ones they cannot. Therefore the injury that is to be done to a man ought to be of such a kind that one does not stand in fear of revenge’._ ”


	27. 26

She woke up again in the same old, deplorable house, stunned by the screams of desperate parents, who at first argued with their hands until they were submerged in violence, both of them only warned by a teenager, their daughter, who hesitant and terrified shook from head to toe by the situation she thought she had provoked. The father’s eyes had always been gray, but that day they seemed to burn with fury, and he demonstrated it by his actions in front of the defensive posture of his wife, until the latter lost her balance and fell directly on the floor, hitting her head with the chair.

By the time the man turned around in search of his daughter, she had already gone to take a big knife out of the kitchen, which she held with her two trembling and inexperienced hands, while she looked weeping at her mother’s body on the floor and understood then, that she was alone; her innocent and youthful aspect only made her father laugh, who pounced on her like a wild beast, while she simply closed her eyes tightly, as if that way she could undo the inevitable.

Time seemed to stand still, as did her entire heart. The teenager felt her hands completely wet and warm, and when she opened her eyes again she noticed, to her shock, the blood gushing like a crimson spring from her father’s chest. The dark eyes stared at her in confusion and fear, as if he no longer recognized her, and he let out a deep groan of pain as the knife buried itself even more in his skin, causing him to stagger and fall backwards, with the teenager on top of him.

Terror, hatred and despair merged into a single feeling, and when the man tried to smother her as the last maneuver of salvation, she was already releasing all that force in a frenzy of blood she had never experienced before; she felt the adult body quivering with pain under hers, drowning in his own sea of suffering, whose waves were disturbed by the uncontrollable desire of the young woman.

The father had a twisted and bitter smile, he kept looking at her full of satisfaction and victory, but he had long since given in to deep sleep, and yet the teenager could not bear the weight of that face, she wanted to make it disappear, she needed to destroy it in every way possible, even if there was no face in him to look at.

After some eternal seconds she stopped, and the shock hit every part of her mind like hundreds of needles, her heart was beating so fast that she could not think clearly, she did not even noticed how her father’s body had been left, for her sight was fixed on some distant point, while she succumbed to the inexplicable feeling that took over all her senses, to the point of leaving her numb, in complete harmony.

By the time the mother regained consciousness, it was too late. She had a bleeding head wound and a cut on her lip, probably from the blow, yet she did not seem to mind. First thing she did was to turn to her daughter to get her out of that mess, taking away the knife that was still clutched in her hands, as if she could not or would not want to let it go, and then she gave her a deep hug, transmitting the longed-for warmth of a mother.

However, the young woman was no longer able to feel her, for she was immobile like a corpse, as detached from reality as if she had ceased to exist, as if she had left with her father. And at that very moment, the sound of a door breaking came from the other room, followed by footsteps, which alerted the woman prompting her to take her daughter’s hand, who was so self-absorbed that she did not understand the situation at all, and let herself be carried away as much as a clam being caught by the tide.

“We are from the Public Safety Bureau!” A short, black-haired man snapped in an authoritative manner. “Drop the knife!”

The woman had become stained with blood and separated from her daughter with her hands up, instantly dropping the knife. This time, however, the teenager blinked when she saw that automatic weapon aimed at her mother’s shaky, thin body, and witnessing its fearful transformation, she threw herself at the executioner as a shot in the dark. Her hands grasped the air, half a meter from the man who was preparing to carry out his work, with a dazed smile as if it were a simple game for him, when the black-haired and gray-eyed one held her back.

It was already late for the woman, and in a fraction of a second she was reduced to guts and flesh in front of the three present, like fireworks. The shot and the smell of death dragged her into reality, and Yashiro suddenly opened her eyes and settled into the seat. She had instinctively extended her right hand forward, just as she had done as a child. She felt a tightness in her chest as if she were suffocating, yet little by little her pulse returned to normal and she rested her head again on the seat back, lowering her hand. Her body was a cold, wet blanket, as if she had finished a marathon while at rest.

She did not know at what point she had fallen asleep during the trip, but when she woke up she was alone in the car, and discovered the figure of her companion when he opened the door for her to get out. It was only for an instant, yet she got a glimpse of the decrepit reflection of her face in the rearview mirror. Her eye sockets were wrinkled and red due to insomnia, the paleness of her skin giving her a sickly look.

When Makishima offered his hand to help her out, Yashiro unconsciously responded to the gesture, for her mind was still in a deep sleep, and memories exerted a force over her entire body, taking away her desire to continue; her own weight seemed to wear her down and she suddenly felt old, as if time had gone by faster than expected. Makishima tightened his grip for a thousandth of a second, and when they parted Yashiro managed to recover her senses, having to squint for a few moments to incorporate herself to reality, and finally be able to raise her gaze again.

She did not know where Makishima’s income came from, in addition to his salary as a professor, but it was clear that he received external help to buy everything he needed. From the extraction team, made up of several men who followed his orders, to the sites they established as their own clandestine centers. They were located in a sort of empty subway parking lot, which was no longer in use. As they moved forward, she could not help but feel inhibited by the darkness that reigned in the air, almost completely dominated by a simple light above the elevator.

The van she had seen before was also parked, but Makishima’s men were not around, so she concluded that they would have arrived before them. As she looked around for signs that might reveal the location, all she found was a comforting silence. They must have been far from the center of the city, or at least somewhere uninhabited. Knowing Makishima, she was sure that the latter option was more feasible. She could not hear any sound, no cars passing by or people coming home from work. She was beginning to wonder what had happened to Sasayama, since she had not seen him again.

“The enforcer is upstairs, waiting for you,” Makishima broke the silence, in a dark and mesmerizing tone.

Both walked slowly side by side, through the huge parking lot in the direction of the small elevator. Makishima’s eyebrows were arched in a solemn and indecipherable manner, and for long seconds they remained in silence, barely exchanging a single glance. When Yashiro finally tilted her head toward him squinting, she stopped short provoking the same reaction in the other, as if he could sense each of her thoughts.

“Waiting for me?”

The abrupt and hoarse tone she used caught Makishima’s attention, who turned gently to face her, at first losing himself at a higher point than her, until he arched an eyebrow and bowed his face, with a look that seemed to soften as he studied her then confused features, as if the question posed were so obvious, that he found it amusing. Yashiro stared at his eyes, falling once more into the abyss they displayed. One that was beginning to clear up, like the distant light in a lonely tunnel.

However, before Yashiro parted her lips to ask again, she was suddenly drawn to a movement behind him, and looking over his shoulder, she discovered two figures coming out of the elevator. One of them was carrying a gun, and as soon as he saw Makishima he ran into the darkness, followed by the other smaller, slower figure. When he was a few feet away, he raised his arms to aim at him.

Sasayama’s hair was a mess, its natural color blending with a dark red. The clothes had folds everywhere, a reminder of the fights he had gone through. It took almost a whole minute before he finally tilted his head toward her, slowly and distressingly as if even gravity affected him. His lower lip was slightly cut and a trickle of blood fell from his nose. One of his eyes was half closed, and the skin around was a little red.

When Sasayama connected with her his eyes burst open in frustration, yet especially, in bewilderment. He was speechless in her presence, as if he thought it was a hallucination produced in response to the loneliness of the parking lot. Still, as seconds passed and he realized that the young woman was a real image, his lips gently closed, until he gulped and just closed his eyes, unable to keep looking at her.

Yashiro stepped aside faster than she would have admitted, placing herself a few steps ahead of Makishima. The enforcer looked at her more closely and a smile lit up his dismal face. At that moment, the figure of Miss Kirino emerged from the shadows, approaching Sasayama until she stood right behind him, like a small guardian angel fluttering around. When Yashiro’s gaze met hers, she felt a heaviness in her entire chest and her eyes narrowed, unable to see her again as she had once done.

“Yashiro,” whispered the enforcer in a pitiful tone, more for himself. “You were right. I walked down a steep path and now, you slipped with me.”

It was then that Makishima turned toward the voice, remaining totally upright with a mournful, almost cadaveric expression, as if the interruption exasperated him to such a degree, that he wished to disintegrate the intruders with the simple amber of his eyes. He was unarmed, yet he did not seem to care at all. Yashiro felt her breathing become heavier, her range of vision centered entirely on Sasayama’s stolen revolver. She turned to Makishima, who watched impassively and casually as he threatened to take his life, as if silently prompting him to pull the trigger.

“It can’t be,” whispered Miss Kirino in a broken voice, as she pointed to the other student. “After all we’ve been through…”

Yashiro filled her lungs with air as she perceived the pain in each feature of Toko, who went on to look at her like a stranger in the middle of the street. She remembered then who had knocked her out, yet a part of her did not want to believe it, and when she saw her next to the jailer her whole appearance was transformed to let hate pass.

“There is only one way to put an end to this,” sentenced Sasayama in an animal and inhumane grimace.

Yashiro felt time stand still as she noticed the movement of the trigger, and the relieved sigh of Miss Kirino reached her ears. She caught a glimpse of a trickle of blood on Makishima’s forehead, she could see him falling backwards onto the floor in slow motion, and the sound he made against the pavement stuck in her mind, echoing loudly across the parking lot. Toko’s scream of horror left her breathless, in the same position, unable to feel the cold night air, or Makishima’s modest yet somber smirk fixed on her back.

The first projectile was directed very close to Toko, but when the enforcer tried to change the direction to aim at Yashiro, she pulled the trigger again, reaching the side of his abdomen. Sasayama let out a muffled scream and his body rolled over like a spinning top, before hitting the concrete floor on his back. Yashiro was unable to feel Toma’s gun in her own hands, yet the echo of the shots made her look up.

Makishima clicked his tongue, taking a few steps around as he watched Yashiro, who continued to hold the weapon with trembling hands, as if attached to its touch in body and soul, unable to let go. Barely breathing and with her eyes more silvery than usual, she came to the enforcer, who had taken his hand to his chest in a futile attempt to contain the bleeding, and was shaking at the scarlet warmth that colored part of his belly.

“Yashiro…”

The young woman lunged at him like a beast, extending her hand with unintelligible speed. The enforcer threw his head back slightly and squinted. His face started to sweat and his breathing quickened. The barrel of the gun remained fixed aiming at his forehead. Yashiro’s eyes were completely cold and dark, as if she had suddenly stopped being herself. Sasayama gulped. He was shaking like a dog in the rain and his teeth hissed at the warmth of his skin.

“This is an opportunity you must not pass up, Yashiro,” whispered Makishima magnificently, like a snake surrounding a mouse. “What you’ve always dreamed of from that moment on, you can now make it come true.”

During all that time the enforcer watched both of them with a dull gleam in his eyes, one that Yashiro had never seen before but was capable of understanding. Silence continued to grow like a morbid spectator, and when Sasayama noticed the strange bond between the two of them he instinctively shook his head, stopping at Yashiro’s figure as if to ask for help. Still, the young woman did not answer his silent prayers, she just stared at him with her eyes narrowed, like a small child spotting an insignificant ant on the ground.

The eyes of the enforcer glittered as if he wished to shout something, but from his throat came nothing but moans of pain, and his body was petrified, impotent before the transparency that such a glance exerted upon him. Yashiro grimaced with her lips, wanting to get him out of her sight at that very moment, and just as her finger touched the trigger, the figure of Toko stepped into her line of sight, standing next to the young man to try to help him with the bleeding. As she turned to her, on the verge of tears, Yashiro saw the horror in each of her features.

“Go ahead, shoot,” snapped the enforcer. “Isn’t that what your mother would want?”

Yashiro clenched the revolver with renewed vigor, half opening her lips and showing her teeth in a repulsive grimace. She could not help but see the dominator in action, the innocent and dazed face of the enforcer carrying out the orders imposed by the system. She could even glimpse the red liquid bathing the entire floor in front of her, while contemplating the remains of what had once been a human body.

“She didn’t deserve that. It didn’t have to end that way. Why didn’t it choose me? What’s different about me? How does it then distinguish a murderer from an innocent?”

Sasayama slowly squinted his eyes, allowing himself to be obscured by the meaning behind the words. Suddenly, the sting that covered his chest like a vine had faded into the background, and he focused on the vulnerable yet dangerous image of Yashiro, with faint but clear tears running down her cheeks. Sasayama shook his head, unable to believe his ears. He did not seem able to face the reality that her eyes were displaying, and for several long seconds his lips remained firm, containing the cold avalanche that was sweeping down his throat.

“You…”

Yashiro was unaware of the remorse in the voice of the enforcer, who frowned in an exacerbated manner when he realized horrified, that the case that had been closed years earlier, had a different culprit. He had killed an innocent, and there was nothing he could do to make up for it. He did not even dare say another word, for he feared that Yashiro would become even more enraged and put a bullet in his skull.

Yashiro felt the blood splatter on her cheeks. She could see the way the enforcer’s head was stretched backwards, decorated in an almost mesmerizing red. And then, her mother’s body replacing it until it became a mass of crushed flesh. Yashiro’s hands trembled at the image, while her index finger danced beside the trigger with a certain shyness. She looked down to focus on the gun barrel, and her entire body detached from her mind, leaving her adrift.

Like Kozaburo Toma with his own mother, Yashiro had dreamed of that moment for years. In different ways, in different places, yet she had always longed to reach those circumstances. At that time, a part of her desired, needed to pull the trigger. To make him disappear, just like her father. The enforcer was beginning to lose consciousness, his eyes could not stay open much longer.

Yashiro leaned slightly forward, raising the weapon again to aim directly at his face, with surprising yet fleeting energy. Her eyes narrowed and turned to glass, and behind her back Makishima flashed an expectant and satisfied smile. But once again she was unable to pull the trigger. The memory of her mother invaded every corner of her mind, but it faded almost instantly, and for the first time Yashiro felt the icy embrace of the most absolute emptiness.

The first one to be surprised was Makishima, who when contemplating the way she stood upright, slowly lowering her arm, arched an eyebrow without being able to believe in what he saw. The enforcer was unconscious under the arms of Miss Kirino, due to blood loss, and the last thing she heard was a bitter sigh. Yashiro noticed that the younger girl was relaxing her body, yet she kept looking with the same suspicion, reminding herself where the bullet had come from.

“How disappointing,” expressed Makishima in a deep, authoritative voice, shaking his head. “After everything he did, you forgive him?”

With a final nod in the direction of the enforcer, and although she was aware that he might die if he did not receive medical attention, Yashiro turned around, connecting her gaze to the disappointed Makishima. At first her whole body went numb, reluctant to approach the man a few feet away, until she managed to control her impulses and started walking forward.

“Wait!” Miss Kirino blurted out. “You can’t just leave him like this!”

Yashiro turned halfway around and watched her out of the corner of her eye, just as she stretched out in her direction, collapsing to the floor. Her cheeks were red and there was a dull glow in her eyes. Although Yashiro had dodged one last bullet, Mitsuru Sasayama was dead to her. Every time she looked at Toko her chest swelled up, leaving her breathless, and that time the effort she had to make in order to continue was twice as great. Makishima noticed the way her eyelids closed, more than usual, while the silvery iris sparkled with a peculiar discretion.

When she turned to Makishima he slightly frowned, being illuminated by her iron determination like a rough diamond. For the first time, the amber in his eyes glowed with frustration, and his features darkened as he melted into the young woman’s gaze. But in a fleeting moment he changed direction to see something behind her back, and Yashiro heard a thud, followed by a sharp sound like something crawling on the floor.

Toko had slipped to where Sasayama’s revolver was, and in a blink of an eye managed to get to her feet, starting to shoot in the direction of Yashiro, who ran to stand behind a column dodging the projectiles. Toko was not a good shoot, yet one of them left a trace on the pillar, inches away from her arm, and Yashiro felt a chill run down her back, until the shots stopped and she heard a low noise, as if from something breaking. When she bent down to look for the girl, she could distinguish Makishima’s silhouette behind her, wrapping one of his arms around her neck.

As she left the column, Yashiro recognized the gun in Makishima’s hands, which was just a few inches away from Toko, grazing her cheek. However, at that moment what Toko cared least about in the world was her own life, and her hungry gaze was fixed on hers. By then Makishima’s men had arrived and were standing around, forming a circle. Yashiro did not need to utter a single word, she just stared at him, with more desperation than hate, and it took Makishima a few seconds to accede to that plea.

Yashiro let out a sigh of relief when Makishima released her. He was a man who seemed to have no scruples about making the life of a human being dance on a thread, even if it was an innocent one. For him, there was nothing more important than ensuring victory in his game, and the pieces on his chessboard were simply controlled by his hand, or abandoned as soon as they ceased to provide an advantage. She was able to glimpse that face under the mask, getting in the way of reality.

Yashiro took a few steps toward the young woman and when the latter noticed her proximity, she twisted like an animal and tried to reach her from the floor with her hands, surprising her to the point of making her fall backwards, yet one of the men managed to stop her at the moment she tried to pounce on her neck, holding her on the floor. Miss Kirino grunted like a hyena that is caught, with bloodshot eyes. Yashiro blinked at the sudden blow and took a few moments to stand up again, thus finding the figure of Makishima at her side, who seemed to scrutinize her like a crow until he decided to return to his men.

“Take the enforcer away,” he ordered, without waiting for a reply. “Do not let him die, I need him alive.”

Yashiro glanced at one of the subjects, and instantly recognized him as the one who had found her in the alley beside Toko. Despite showing seriousness in his work and in directing others, Yashiro could tell by his appearance that he cared about Makishima, just as much as a right hand. He followed his orders without a shadow of a doubt on his face, yet he did not seem as meek and blind as the others, he had his own motives and money must not be one of them.

“What do we do with the girl?” A younger man asked, pointing his thumb at Toko.

“Lock her up,” answered Makishima with conviction. “And make sure she does not get away again.”

The men set off, ascending through the elevator until Yashiro lost sight of them. She had become so engrossed in Miss Kirino’s head down that she was slow to notice the recent presence of Makishima, yet when she did, she walked slowly toward him and stopped about three feet away, being scanned from head to toe as if it were their first time meeting each other.

“I will never forgive him,” rebuked Yashiro, tilting her head in his direction. “But his death won’t bring my mother back, and the pleasure it will give me… will be only for a moment…”

Makishima raised his eyebrows for a fraction of a second, absorbed by both her words and the exceptional sharpness of her voice, until he released an ironic and deep chuckle, shaking his head.

“In my life I have known many who have slipped down the slope of revenge… but this is the first time I have ever met someone aware of its perpetuity, how quickly it corrupts your soul and how useless it is to quench your thirst.”

Yashiro could not help but feel a shudder at his words, which resembled a melodious whisper and at the same time, a cry drowned out by memories to which only he had access.

“You fooled us all from the very beginning,” she admitted looking straight ahead. “To Toma, to prevent him from killing Sasayama, and to me… to try to take revenge. All this… to what end?”

Yashiro furrowed her brow, trying to find the answers for herself. It was then that she realized how little did she know him, even though the similarity between the two of them was inexorable. The abyss had opened up in front of her, and she could feel gravity pulling on her mind, guiding her into the darkness.

“Since I was a child I like to listen to the stories that others have to tell—”

“You look at a painting and idealize its artist,” Yashiro stepped forward. “You finish reading a novel, and first thing you wonder is what inspired the writer…”

“Everyone has secrets, desires that they suppress in order to be part of society,” continued Makishima in a dreamy ecstasy. “I teach them to accept them, to realize them, and I observe how intense the light they emit is.”

“And when that light is no longer attractive enough, you let it go out on its own or promote its obfuscation—"

“You look surprised,” replied Makishima in an amusing tone, placing one hand on his hip as he lifted his face and returned it to her. “If you accept that not all roses emanate the same smell, wouldn’t you be willing to let the valley burn, just to save the one you saw blooming?”

Yashiro did not respond and eluded his gaze for a thousandth of a second, gulping and losing her sight in different directions. Her eyes were shining even though she retained the glow with all the willpower she had left. Makishima on the other hand, observed her with great joy, aware that he had her in his hands. When Yashiro finally decided to turn around and turn her back on him completely upright, she stayed in the same position for several seconds, with the intention of leaving and at the same time, listening to the sound of his voice for the last time.

“How do I know you will keep your word?” She asked in a stern tone, casting a sidelong glance at him.

“When the time comes, you will know.”


	28. 27

Applause plunged the auditorium into a frenzy of glory as the graduates of the Ousou Academy received their diplomas, and walked in a line to take their place in the center of the stage, forming a perfect row. For a long minute they stood aside, letting themselves be intoxicated by the meaning of that ceremony and the soft lights of the hall.

In spite of everything, she would always have an unconditional affection for that academy. She had spent an important part of her life within its walls, meeting people who came to bring her many things, and she could never simply forget it. There was no way she would allow herself to do so. Although she would not see most of them again, the moments she had spent, the conversations she had held and especially, the things she had managed to learn, would remain forever in her memory.

Yashiro was one of the first to be greeted with a warm hug by the others, and when the adults started to leave the auditorium, she got a nod from her literature teacher. It was the first time she saw her smiling, and she responded to the gesture in the same way. Among so many faces overflowing with joy, there was one who despite being silent and immobile, managed to stop her heart.

Yashiro would always recognize it no matter how far away she was, and she moved away from her classmates to address the figure, which was waiting with hands together in front of it. She stood completely upright watching her from a distance, as if disconnected from the surrounding environment. Yashiro managed to pass among the crowd of relatives and students with a slight abruptness, taking with her a couple of confused glances. When she was some steps away she stopped, standing up while holding her breath.

“Congratulations, Yashiro.”

Rikako’s voice sounded so confident that for a moment her sound surrounded her, silencing all others around her. The difference in height did not seem to matter to them, they just analyzed each other as if years had passed since they had last seen each other, or as if time had swept both of them away, taking with it what they once were.

“You are here,” stated Yashiro, narrowing her eyes with a brief blink.

The younger one on the other hand, pursed her lips in a graceful smile. Rikako had always been a person who took care of her tone of voice and her every move, yet Yashiro perceived her differently that time. She seemed to be watching from another place, a higher one, as if she were a mere spectator.

“Did you doubt me?”

Silence broke between the two of them, despite the constant noise in the auditorium. Yashiro climbed one more step, contemplating the way that the fun dissipated little by little, from the corners of those thin lips.

“Where have you been?” Yashiro decided to question.

“I was going to ask you the same thing…”

Yashiro raised her face a few millimeters and released a breath, as she arched an eyebrow. For a few seconds she lost her gaze at a point higher than both, and when she turned to her again she relaxed her shoulders and body, feeling that the strength was beginning to abandon her.

“The cage is open now,” asserted Yashiro observing every attentive feature of her face. “The jump is difficult, the flight… eternal.”

“You will find the way,” answered Rikako in a firm and enigmatic tone. “Just as you showed me.”

Yashiro gulped and looked down for a moment. Her eyes released a splendor that managed to go unnoticed, as soon as a doubtful and innocent smile came halfway across her lips. When she raised her face again to stare at her, the amethyst in her gaze made her blink a couple of times, and she had to squint as if in those moments, what she saw burned her eyelids.

Her entire body was numb, reluctant to continue living, yet it was after some seconds that she managed to take control, and she slowly climbed the remaining steps until she was a few centimeters in front of her. Rikako looked down, melting into the silvery glow that had completely disappeared. And then, without permission, Yashiro came even closer, breaking that intimate barrier, and wrapped her arms around her.

Rikako felt a slight chill on her back, both of panic and of pleasure, and her eyes opened wide. The contact was gentle at first, but then Yashiro sank her face into her shoulder, inhaling deeply the fragrance of that warmth as if trying to retain it in her memory. Rikako took a few seconds to let herself go, relaxing her whole body, and gave the gesture back with the same intensity, allowing herself to be lulled to sleep by the sound of her breath.

“That felt like goodbye,” mumbled the youngest when they parted.

Yashiro did not respond at once, she just watched her like a little girl about to fall asleep, as if she had not really been able to hear her words.

“I want to see you up there,” declared Yashiro, in a solemn and unreachable whisper.

Rikako narrowed her eyes as she looked at her, noticing that she was just as imposing making it clear that she was serious. She was willing to put one foot back in the academy, only to see her graduate. She was about to object to her, but in the end she gave her one last nod, and then Yashiro walked past her without saying a single word or even glancing at her, in such a slow manner that she seemed to force herself to take distance from her presence. Rikako tilted her head in her direction, but was fixed on the floor when she lost sight of her. Gently, she focused on the auditorium again.

Yashiro was once again caught up in the laughter and praise. It took about fifteen minutes for her to bid farewell to her classmates, who began to leave with their families, and she decided to observe the courtyard of the academy one last time, from one of the balconies of the dining hall. For a long time she rested her hands on the railing, losing her sight on the dark and mesmerizing night sky. Slightly leaning forward, the moonlight reflected on her in a mysterious and supernatural way.

“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” She heard a quiet voice behind her.

Makishima was leaning sideways on one of the pillars, contemplating her with an indecipherable smile. Although he was a teacher of other courses, he had attended that ceremony by his own choice. Yashiro felt her chest swell for a few seconds, unable to turn around. She was not expecting such company, and the echo of his voice left her strangely self-conscious.

“It’s hard to let go.”

Makishima looked down for a few moments until he finally asked, with a naturalness that made her close her eyes, “Did you say goodbye?”

“Not exactly,” confessed Yashiro, taking a deep breath.

“You didn’t tell her the truth.”

Yashiro lost her sight in the courtyard again, in the artificial fountain.

“What happens to her now?”

Makishima watched her when she finally dared to turn around, loosening her entire body as she connected to that amber. If it were not for his sharp ears, he probably would not have heard her.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he assured with a smirk.

Yashiro made a grimace of irony with her lips, and arched an eyebrow as she shook her head, trying to smile even though seconds later, she inevitably failed.

“That smile is that of a wolf entering a henhouse.”

Makishima extended the gesture with delicacy like a shy dawn, yet he could not contain a long, slow chuckle, surprised by her intuition for the umpteenth time. Time again seemed a distant spectator to them, and they were unaware of its passing as they studied each other.

“I thought you needed Sasayama to obtain information from the Public Safety Bureau,” she argued, breaking the silence. “You never mentioned you would turn him over to Toma…”

“You didn’t need to know. You had the enforcer on your hands, but you decided to let him go. Now, there are no more witnesses who can corroborate Rikako Oryo’s involvement.”

Yashiro closed her eyes for a few seconds, and breathed out heavily. When she opened them again, the cold they conveyed was almost palpable, yet it did not affect him at all, he seemed to be covered by a thick shell.

“Where is Toma?”

Makishima’s sudden silence made her cross her arms, as she leaned back on the railing somewhat impatiently.

“He was captured by members of the Public Safety Bureau, but nothing is known about him.”

Yashiro felt her breathing become heavy, the atmosphere grew cooler and more suffocating. She could not help but close her eyes for several seconds, instinctively raising her head. The night air seeped into her bones, and she had to make an enormous effort to incorporate herself into reality. The young man in front of her remained impassive, with the same smirk that in those moments, lacked all sense for Yashiro.

For the first time since she had met him, she turned her back on him to grasp the railing with her hands. Although she could comprehend his every intention, lately she watched him and felt a void in her whole body. The more she knew him, the more impenetrable he became to her. That indifference in his eyes disturbed her to such an extent that she could not understand, she realized then that he cared little and nothing about the state of Toma, that teacher with whom he had held so many conversations. He had used him from the very beginning without him being aware, and though he was surprised that he had been caught, he could quickly forget him because to him, he was only a tool whose edge could be replaced.

“Toma may be dead or missing. People like him do not have an assured place in this world. That is, because they are a burden to the Sibyl System, they are the mistake that contradicts its foundation,” sentenced Yashiro in a gloomy tone, more for herself. “I will find Toma.”

Makishima slowly widened his eyes and moved away from the pillar to come near her, until he was right beside her placing both hands on the railing. Their eyes were lost in the sky, as if they were both seeking inspiration in the starless gloom.

“Let’s open Pandora’s Box, Yashiro. Let’s see what is behind the Sibyl System.”


	29. 28

When Yashiro checked the time, she noticed that she was half an hour early. She clicked her tongue almost unconsciously, which caught the cab driver’s attention, an older man who looked at her curiously in the rearview mirror. During the rest of the trip she focused on the cars passing by, the buildings rising in the city in a majestic and modern way full of advertising holograms, while she talked to the man about different subjects. The highway was almost completely empty at that time, and the driver could increase his speed by going in the same lane. When the cab driver arrived at her destination, he greeted her with one hand after receiving his payment.

“This is the Criminal Investigation Department, part of the Public Safety Bureau. Access to this block is currently restricted to ensure safety”

Yashiro made her way to the center from which the female voice came, and presented her holographic identification for passage. A light drizzle was falling in the night, yet during the journey it was intense enough to soak several strands of her hair, which remained on one side of her face. She found the sound most gratifying, but knew that she would not make a very good impression with that look, despite being formally dressed and with her hair up. She should have brought an umbrella, but she had forgotten it right at the entrance to her apartment.

“Inspectors are very scarce,” an older woman was saying, with short gray hair. “The work they do demands a high degree of responsibility and strength of character. The death of the enforcer Sasayama taught us that the rank of inspector can simply be downgraded; therefore it is paramount for emotions to be separated from duty. I truly hope that you will not end up like your colleague, the one who started the same year as you and Inspector Ginoza.”

“I will keep that in mind, chief,” replied the other woman.

At that time, Yashiro was discovered by the last one, who was the inspector of division two. She could easily recognize her by her short brown hair, which fell on both sides of her head in a straight manner, giving off an aura of professionalism and authority. In response, she approached them and finally allowed herself to stand completely upright, bringing her right hand to her forehead in a military gesture.

“Inspector Yashiro Takahashi, at your service.”

Even though she had not turned around, Yashiro swore she saw a brief, unblemished smile on the lips of the older woman, but she blinked until the image disappeared from her mind, and when she turned to look at her directly in the eyes, Yashiro felt transfixed in an enormous way, an extravagant sensation she had never perceived in her life. It was as if under those thin yellow glasses, a huge mind rested trying to probe into her innermost thoughts. She expected nothing less from the director of the Public Safety Bureau.

“I have high expectations of you,” declared the director, making an enigmatic pause. “I leave it all in your hands, Aoyanagi.”

Yashiro contemplated the way her body was disappearing, hiding the surprise that such a precise hologram had caused her, which could be confused with reality as if it were part of it. She was still thinking about the strange glance of the old woman, when Inspector Aoyanagi took the only blue uniform that was folded on the table and came closer to hand it to her. Yashiro returned to those brown eyes that studied her with a certain disinterest, while she grabbed the jacket.

“As you may have heard, the Criminal Investigation Department has very little manpower, so I cannot treat you like a rookie,” sentenced Aoyanagi.

The woman started to explain the case they had to solve in a dry and unalterable tone, and both activated the hologram on their wristcom to observe the man they were looking for. It was Iwao Maki, a citizen who had been marked by a scanner on the street, as soon as his psycho pass exceeded the permitted standard. Despite the warning, he refused treatment and escaped from the authorities. It was on the same day that his wife was murdered, and therefore he was the prime suspect from then on.

“The people you are about to meet would be completely isolated due to their high crime coefficients, but they are allowed to act under the jurisdiction of the Criminal Investigation Department, with the aim of assisting in cases by hunting down latent criminals like them. They are called enforcers, and will be under your supervision.”

The sound of a vehicle broke through and when Yashiro turned around, she saw a huge police van parking nearby. From the back the dark door slowly began to unfold, and after some seconds about three young men dressed in suits came down, and went to where they were.

“She is Inspector Yashiro Takahashi. From now on you will address her as the second in command.”

When they noticed the new presence all eyes were focused on her, and Yashiro bowed slightly with her hands together in front of her body, being able to glimpse the stupefaction in enforcers in spite of that movement.

“I must assume that you have been previously informed about the target, so I will avoid any further preamble,” Aoyanagi cut off. “We will split into two groups to corner him. The Akiyama brothers will come with me. Kozuki will accompany Inspector Takahashi.”

Yashiro did not overlook the somewhat disappointed glance of Kozuki, a young man with short dark hair who seemed to be saying with his eyes that he would have preferred to go with Aoyanagi. They were probably very close even though they proved otherwise in practice. She wondered if it had anything to do with what the director was saying as soon as she arrived. She did not have time to think about it, since a drone broke loose from the van, which stood near them and opened its container to deploy several dominators, shining some light blue lines around it. When Yashiro grabbed one of them with both hands, she frowned at the sound of a feminine, mechanized voice in her head.

_Dominator portable. Psychological Diagnosis and Suppression System has been activated. User authentication: Inspector_ _Yashiro Takahashi. Public Safety Bureau, Criminal Investigation Department. Dominator usage approval confirmed. You are a valid user._

The shortest of the brothers was standing in front of her, and when she put the gun away he gave her a brief bold smile, as he gestured a gun to the side of his head and pretended to shoot himself.

“Don’t worry, we do the dirty work,” he assured with a hurried, impatient voice. “If something goes wrong, you can blame us and shoot us. After all, we are latent criminals.”

Yashiro arched an eyebrow at how quickly he seemed to enter into trust with others, yet no words came out of her throat, as the taller one took his dominator and fixed his cold gaze on hers. They did not look like brothers at all, except for the physical resemblance between them.

“Do you know how to use a dominator?” The subject questioned in a tone that was both threatening and indifferent.

Yashiro nodded her head, undaunted by the authoritarian look he seemed to want to display, “I did receive training, but I am aware that things are learned in reality.”

The young man bowed his head slightly in a gesture of approval. The brother on the other hand, let out a whistle of surprise as he pointed the imaginary barrel of his hand at him, as if by mere gestures they shared a language of their own.

“Its safety is released when the target is a latent criminal. All you have to do is shoot when it tells you to,” explained the older Akiyama as he walked, without waiting for questions or interruptions. “The basic mode is the paralyzer, which will paralyze the target to be taken into custody.”

Yashiro could not help but breathe deeply as she observed her decadent and lifeless surroundings. The dirty alleys lit by different fluorescent signs, half-open garbage cans and objects of all kinds scattered on the floor, from empty and broken alcohol bottles to used condoms. About ten minutes passed in utter silence, until a voice broke into the line that the division shared.

“This is Husky 3,” the sly voice of the youngest Akiyama sounded through the communicator. “The target is located on the second floor. What are your orders?”

Yashiro frowned as the terrified scream of a child roared across the line, followed by two shots. Enforcer Kozuki automatically started to move into the building, and she took her cue from that.

“Balto 1 speaking,” Inspector Aoyanagi declared breathlessly, almost placated by the noise of her footsteps. “Give me a sitrep.”

“The target is… going down.”

When Yashiro reached the second floor through the stairs, she saw the subject running on the other side, followed by a child. Kozuki headed toward him with the dominator in hand, and caught up with him first, though she advanced through the same place to box him in later. However, to his own surprise, he was greeted by a burst of bullets intended only to throw him off, and forced him to retreat to cover himself with a pillar.

The moment Yashiro decided to raise the dominator, the boy turned to her as if driven by a supernatural force and shouted to warn the man, revealing that he was his father. When the older one realized he was surrounded, in a desperate act he took his own son, placing the gun barrel on his head and backing away, to protect his back. Despite the distance she was able to hear Kozuki’s grunt of helplessness, who just like her did not expect such a reaction.

“If you come closer I’ll put a bullet in him, I’ll kill him,” yelled the subject, directing suspicious glances at both of them. “Drop your weapons!”

Kozuki separated from the pillar to stay a few meters away, and almost without hesitation threw the dominator in his direction, which moved along the floor until it was half a meter away from the man. Yashiro on her part, gave in to the threat some time later and remained in the same position. It was then that the subject took a few steps forward, heading for Kozuki’s dominator, and bent down a few inches without letting go of his son, until he finally managed to grab the agency’s weapon by dropping his own.

The boy, whose face was red with tears and his body was shaking from head to toe, fell on his face to the floor when the older one gave him a strong push. The animal smile that lit up his entire face was soon blurred by an almost sickly grudge, as seconds passed and though he aimed shakily at Yashiro, the trigger did not respond to his orders. The dominator was a weapon authorized by the Public Safety Bureau, and could not be manipulated by civilians. Mr. Maki was not a valid user, and when he realized that it was too late.

His chest opened such a portal to another dimension, and in a fraction of a second his body split in two, reducing to nothing both his thorax and his skull, and leaving on the floor the remains of his extremities. Yashiro blinked at the image and turned around instinctively, thus finding the smiling face that gradually became easier to memorize. When he came out of the shadows and approached both of them, he winked in a somewhat peculiar way, but before saying anything he fixed his attention on the child, raising his dominator, which was beginning to change shape.

“Wait!” Yashiro exclaimed, standing in his line of sight.

When she grasped the barrel of his gun, lifting it into the air and preventing it from firing, the young man clicked his tongue while continuing to use opposing forces. They were so close to each other that they could hear the agitated sound of their breathing. The boy was sitting on the floor, but almost unconsciously he crawled backwards like a wounded puppy, walking away until he hit the wall on his back. He was in shock, staring at his father’s blood.

“Helping a criminal means being an accomplice, you know?” He snapped. “The very Sibyl System claims we can’t help him. He’s a threat to society!”

“He is just a kid whose only thing left was his father, he did not commit any crime!”

Yashiro arched an eyebrow when she noticed, out of the corner of her eyes, that the enforcer Kozuki took the dominator he had dropped moments before, directing it toward the immobile body of the child who did not even reacted to that movement. Yashiro no longer felt anything around her and could not contain her impulses. In a blink of an eye, she abruptly parted from the enforcer and managed to reach her own dominator, remaining with a knee on the floor while extending one of her arms in the direction of Kozuki.

_Crime coefficient is 130. Enforcer registered at the Criminal Investigation Department. Enforce at will target. The safety will be released._

“We will use the paralyzer mode and take him into custody, as we should with any victim,” sentenced Yashiro, trying to display authority.

Kozuki raised an eyebrow and stared at her in silence with a certain haughtiness, as if he really doubted that she would be capable of shooting him. However, Yashiro started to pull the trigger slightly, yet enough to show him that she was willing to do whatever necessary. After some seconds that seemed like an eternity, Kozuki finally followed her orders, and Yashiro allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief, putting her dominator away. Then she approached the child with great gentleness, kneeling down one meter in front of him, so that the remaining body of his father would stay out of his sight.

“We are from the Public Safety Bureau, we are here to help you. You are safe now, you do not need to run anymore.”

The boy looked up slowly until he met the silver of her eyes, which at that moment were shining with an almost motherly warmth. His breathing, which had been labored until then, returned to his normal pulse and he seemed to regain control of his body, which stood against the wall to sit more comfortably. It was then that Yashiro drew a friendly smile, feeling for herself the way his hue was clearing. And suddenly, the sound of a shot pierced the silence and the young man’s body shook completely, until he fell to the side unconsciously.

On a footbridge, several meters away, were Aoyanagi and the older Akiyama, though to her surprise it was the latter who used the paralyzer mode. Yashiro studied the somber and disturbing face he was showing for a few seconds, the upright and unmovable posture before his own action, as if it were something he had become accustomed to with time and did not question one iota about it. A wooden soldier shaped by the Sibyl System with utter simplicity, as the situation demanded.

“You will have to fill out a report later, Inspector Takahashi,” Aoyanagi’s voice announced through the communicator.

Yashiro slowly opened her eyes, getting used to the darkness in her room. The shift at the Public Safety Bureau began in the afternoon, and she got up after stretching and yawning. Her apartment was simple and lacked a holographic system installed, yet it had just enough for her. In the living room there was a small balcony that provided light and allowed her to look outside, or set up a chair to stay and read. The rent was one of the cheapest, but she had chosen it for its minimalism, and one advantage of having neighbors made up of families and older people, was the tranquility.

She glanced quickly at two small pictures that were hanging on the wall in her room, right next to her bookcase. In the first picture she was sitting in the library of her former academy next to a smiling Toma, while behind her with a book on his hand was a surprised Makishima. In the second on the other hand, she was with a solemn Rikako. She felt guilty for having those photographs, yet she was unable to get rid of them. A faint smile gathered on her lips, and after eating some fruits for breakfast without a food printer, she dressed in the characteristic office clothes and left her apartment, saying goodbye to some neighbors who were getting ready to go to work.

When the NONA tower rose in front of her like a real giant reigning over the city with its mere presence, Yashiro gulped and contemplated its splendor for almost a whole minute, until she finally dared to advance. As she had arrived half an hour early, she decided to explore the different corridors and stopped for a few moments when she recognized the short brown hair of an older man. She closed her eyes for some seconds, and entered the office at a hurried pace as if she had been running.

“Oh… excuse me,” she confessed in a repentant tone, turning away.

The squeal of a chair as it turned brought a brief smile to her face, and she stopped just before leaving.

“You lost, miss?” A deep yet gentle voice said behind her back. “You are the new inspector everyone is talking about, aren’t you?”

Yashiro turned around and frowned as she discovered that the owner of the voice, was the same man she had seen three years earlier during the Specimen Case. She remembered seeing him in a brown trench coat, but at that moment he was wearing a white shirt under a black tie, an office style that did not fit him, and which brought a smile to her face. He was more the type of man who went straight to the field, solving the most complex cases, and did not stay with the usual paperwork.

“Inspector Yashiro Takahashi,” she bowed slightly. “A pleasure.”

Once again, an enforcer was puzzled to see her making a casual bow, as if she came from another country and her language were different. She was beginning to believe that it was unusual for inspectors to be polite to enforcers.

“Tomomi Masaoka… from division one.”

For a moment she was forced to hold his gaze, and she realized that although he was a latent criminal, he did not seem so at all. She doubted that he had ever committed a crime in his life, for all he conveyed was the confidence and warmth of a father. Yashiro tilted her head to the side, and looked over his shoulder to search the office for other faces. There was a young woman with black hair in a ponytail, who watched with the same distrust she thought she remembered, and no one else.

“What about inspectors Kougami and Ginoza?” She asked gently.

At first Masaoka opened his eyes suddenly, perhaps astonished at the young woman’s unblemished memory. However, after a few seconds he sighed deeply and scratched his head, closing his eyes. Behind him, the woman who seemed to be listening to music through black earphones, stretched out on the chair with a frown, and though she said nothing Yashiro was aware that she shared the same concern.

“Former inspector,” corrected Masaoka looking at one of the desks, which had an ashtray full of cigarettes above. “When a colleague who was a friend of his was murdered three years ago, his psycho pass became cloudy… and since then he is no longer the same.”

Yashiro kept her lips half open, not knowing what to say for a few moments. She had entered the office with the excuse of greeting them, but what she least expected was such news. Then she remembered what the director had been saying with Inspector Aoyanagi. After Kougami’s degradation, the other inspectors were trying to stay out of it, protecting their own crime coefficients from the danger of a chain reaction.

“That is terrible…”

For some seconds a melancholic and uncomfortable silence was created, until Masaoka cleared his throat as if to ease the atmosphere, and in turn incorporate himself into reality. Yashiro realized that the memory of the enforcer Sasayama was still in their minds, and they found it hard to look at his desk, which was clean and tidy, different from the one he probably used once. Kougami was the only one who seemed to have adopted a mania from him, and it was his particular taste for cigarettes.

“I heard the rumors about you,” added Masaoka looking at her carefully, as he placed his elbow on the armrest of his seat. “You were one of the best averages and your hue is as clear as water… even after what happened to that girl… what was her name?”

“Toko Kirino,” corroborated the woman from the other desk, with a voice that pretended to be disinterested.

“Right, the daughter of one of the victims,” the older one continued stroking his chin. “The whole case went to the dogs for lack of witnesses when she was found with brain damage, unable to communicate…”

Masaoka realized that she knew her because she had also been a student at the Ousou Academy, and he automatically fell silent, feeling somewhat guilty. Yashiro sensed the discomfort and shook her head, making it clear that they could talk about it without any problem.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” He changed the subject with an amusing smile. “They say Inspector Aoyanagi is just as demanding as Ginoza… so I’d hurry.”

Yashiro drew a mischievous smile, while shrugging her shoulders. Masaoka was a man she had liked from the beginning, perhaps the only one up to then who seemed human in the entire agency, even though he was an enforcer. One could simply recognize him among all those faces. He was not old in vain, and he was the kind of person one would go to for advice, whether about life or work-related issues. She had the feeling she could have good talks with him.

Yashiro explained that since she was new she did not know where her office was, and Masaoka did not hesitate to give her directions, which further denoted his prosthetic left arm. Then she thanked him and left the office, raising her hand in greeting. She was somewhat away from her unit, yet managed to arrive ten minutes early, only to discover that Inspector Aoyanagi was not even in sight. Instead, the image she got of the three enforcers left her frozen in place.

Kozuki manipulated a deck of cards with total simplicity without them falling on the table, immersed in his own thoughts. The youngest of Akiyama was reclining on the seat, with his feet on the desk and a pair of augmented reality glasses. When he turned toward her he lifted them over his black wavy hair, while standing up and sitting correctly. His elder brother on the other hand, was the only one who seemed to be concentrating on work from such early hours, since he looked like he was reading some reports, though she did not manage to distinguish what they were about.

“Ah, inspector. Welcome to division two,” the young man let go without taking his dazed smile off his face. “I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Daiki Akiyama. This is Ryoga Kozuki and the furniture over there is my brother, Katashi.”

When the others noticed her presence, they turned in their seats to study her. Katashi’s countenance was devoid of all meaning, she could not intuit what he was thinking for it seemed that gestures were not something to which his body was accustomed. Kozuki was still moving the cards expertly, with his lips slightly parted. Yashiro took a short bow and went to her own desk, which was farther away from the others, remembering that she had a report to fill out about the previous day’s case. Paperwork was quite boring for her, yet she was confident that she could get it out of the way as soon as possible.

“How did you know he was a victim?” Kozuki brought her back to reality.

Several minutes had passed. The report was ready and she pressed a last touch key to send it to Inspector Aoyanagi. The office was absolutely silent, and when she turned in her chair she noticed the tall, thin figure of Kozuki standing at the side of her desk. His forehead was wrinkled and he looked at her as if he did not yet fully trust her presence. It took Yashiro a few seconds to realize that he was referring to the child they had helped. Although he no longer had any parents, his aunt had decided to take care of him.

“Some parents take advantage of their children’s innocence, and use them to commit illegal acts,” explained Yashiro with a warm smile.

The other two enforcers listened with great attention, even though they proved to be busy with their own hobbies. Yahiro knew that she was being studied by each of them constantly, something that puzzled her but did not really bother her. Her voice held secrets that she was not willing to reveal to mere strangers, and they were aware of that.

“Manipulating a child and, on top of that, your own son,” Kozuki ironized, drawing a half smile for the first time in her presence. “Unbelievable.”

Before she could say anything else, the sound of an alarm invaded the entire office, including the outside corridors. It was a warning of stress level in a specified area, which meant that a psycho pass had been detected with an above-average value. The female voice flooded the whole office, eventually demanding that the inspector who was available go to the site with his enforcers immediately.

Yashiro reclined on the seat, feeling a greater force pulling her as if wishing to tear her apart. Of all the jobs she could do, she had chosen the Public Safety Bureau, the only one that required a superior psycho pass. She did not believe in fate, she trusted in chance, but she still sensed that it was her place. She had many questions, and was willing to find the answers. Would Makishima be as well?


End file.
